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ELEMENTS 



MORAL SCIENCE. 



BY JAMES BEATTIE, L. L. D. 

PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY AND LOGIC 
TN MARISCHAL COLLEGE, ABERDEEN. 



VOL. I. 



PHILADELPHIA : 
PUBLISHED BY MATHEW CAREY, 
$ :;o. 122, market-street. 

1806. 



V \ 3 



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ADVERTISEMEN T 



THESE volumes contain an abridgment, and, for 
the most part, a very brief one, of a series of dis- 
courses, delivered in Marischal college, on moral philo- 
sophy and logic. 

It has long been the author's practice, with a view to 

assist the memory of his hearers, to make them write 

notes of each discourse. But as that was necessarily done 

in haste, inaccuracy w T as unavoidable : and many of 

them have expressed their wishes, that he would put it 

in their power to procure correct copies of the whole 

summary, a little enlarged in the doctrinal parts, and 

with the addition of a few illustrative examples. This 

is one of his motives to the present publication ; 

which some are pleased to think has been too Jong 

delayed ; and which is become the more excusable, a 

hundreds of manuscript copies of the notes, many of 

them incomplete, as well as incorrect, are now extant 

— and as several extracts from ihem have got, he knows 

not how, into print, with more imperfections, it may 

be, than could reasonably be imputed to the author. 

e begs leave to add, as another reason for making 

ese papers public, that he has been advised to it by 

any persons, whose judgment and love of good learn- 

g entitle them at all times to his most respectful atten- 

m. 

It will, no doubt, be observed, that some of the Follow- 
g topics, though brevity has been aimed at in all, are 
treated more compendiously than others. This could, 
he thinks, be accounted for ; but not without much egot- 
ism, and a detail of particulars neither necessary nor 
interesting. 

No body, he presumes, will be offended, if in these 
papers there be found, as there certainly will, number- 
less thoughts and arguments, which may be found else- 
where. It will be considered, that, as a professor's 
province is generally assigned him by public authority, 
his business is rather to collect and arrange his mate- 
rials, than to invent or make them. In his iltustra- 

B 



6 ADVERTISEMENT. 

t ions j in order to render what he teaches as perspicuous 
and entertaining; as possible, he may give ample scope 
to his inventive powers : but in preparing a summary 
of his principles, he will be more solicitous to make 
a collection of useful truths, however old, than to 
amuse his readers with paradox, and theories of his 
own contrivance* — And let it be considered, further, 
that, as all the practical, and most of the speculative, 
parts of moral science, have been frequently and fully 
explained by the ablest writers, he would, if he should 
affect novelty in these matters, neither do justice to his 
subject, nor easily clear himself from the charge of os- 
tentation. 

Of such of the author's lectures, as have already, under 
the name of essays, been published in the same form in 
which they w r ere at first composed, particularly those 
on language, memory, and imagination, he has made 
this abridgment as brief as was consistent with any de- 
gree of perspicuity. Some may think, that he ought 
to have left out those parts ; and he once thought so 
himself. But it occurred to him, that many persons, 
into whose hands this book would perhaps come, may 
have never seen those printed lectures, and possibly ne- 
ver would see them ; — that he could not, with a good 
grace, recommend it to any body to purchase the vo- 
lumes in which they are to be found ; — and that, if those 
parts should be wholly omitted* his system, as exhibited 
in this epitome, would have a mutilated appearance, and 
be still more imperfeft than it is. 



INTRODUCTION. 



1. TTUMAN knowledge has been divided into histo- 
fl ry, philosophy, mathematics, and poetry or fa- 
ble*. History records the aclions of men, and the 
other appearances of the visible universe. Poetry or 
fable is an imitation of histoiy according to probabi- 
lity, and exhibits things not as they are, but as we 
might suppose them to be* Philosophy investigates the 
laws of nature with a view to the regulation of human 
conduct, and the enlargement of human power. The 
mathematical sciences ascertain relation and propor- 
tions in quantity and number — History and philoso- 
phy are founded in the knowledge of real things. Ma- 
thematical truths result from the nature of the quanti- 
ties or numbers compared together. Poetical represen- 
tations are approved of, if they resemble real things, and, 
are themselves agreeable. 

2. These parts of knowledge are not always kept; 
distinct or separate Philosophical investigation may 
find a place in history : and historical narrative is often 
necessary in philosophy. Many things in natural philo-. 
sophy are ascertained and illustrated by mathematical 
reasoning. Poetical description may contribute to the 
embellishment of history ; as may be seen in many pas- 
sages of Livy, Tacitus, and other great historians. And 
true narrative and sound reasoning may, in poetry, 
be both ornamental and useful ; as we see in many parts 
of Paradise Lost. 

3. History is referred to memory ; because it records 
what is past, whereof, without memory, men would 
have no knowledge. Poetry is the work of fancy or im- 
agination, that is, of the inventive powers of man ; 
which, however, must be regulated by the knowledge 

* Bacon considers poetry as a part of human know- 
ledge, and mathematics as an appendage to natural 
philosophy. 



8 INTRODUCTION. 

of nature. Philosophy and mathematics are improved 
and prosecuted by a right use of reason : but there is 
this difference between them that to the discovery of 
mathematical truth reason is alone sufficient ; whereas, 
to form a philosopher, reason and knowledge of nature 
are both necessary. Mathematics, therefore, though 
an instrument of philosophy, and an appendage to it, 
cannot, with propriety, be called a part oi it. 

4. Of philosophy different definitions and descrip- 
tions have been given, according to the different views 
■which have been taken of it. As improved by Bacon, 
Boyle, Newton, and other great men, it may now be 
defined, The knowledge of nature, applied to practical 
and useful purposes. It is useful in these four respecls : 
first, because it exercises, and consequently improves, 
the rational powers of man : secondly, because it gives 
pleasure, by gratifying curiosity : thirdly, because it 
regulates the opinions of men, and directs their actions : 
and fourthly, because it enables us to discover, in part, 
the existence and attributes of the Supreme Being, 
the Creator of all things, who has established those 
general principles, which are called the laws of nature, 
and according to which, all the phenomena of the uni- 
verse are produced. 

5. Without some acquaintance with nature, we could 
not act at all, either in pursuing good, or in avoiding 
evil ; we should not know that fire would burn, or food 
nourish us. In brutes, whose experience, compared 
with ours, is very limited, the want of this knowledge 
is supplied, as far as may be necessary for them, or be- 
neficial to us, by natural instinct. We discover causes 
by comparing things together, and observing the rela- 
tions, resemblances, and connections that take place 
among them, and the effects produced by their being 
applied to one another. And, by comparing several 
causes together, we may sometimes trace them up to 
one common cause, or general principle ; as Newton 
resolved the laws of motion into the vis inertia of mat- 
ter. 

6. As all philosophy is founded in the knowledge of 
nature, that is, of the things that really exist ; and as all 
the things that really exist, as far as we are concerned 



INTRODUCTION. 9 

in them, and capable of observing them, are either bo- 
dies or spirits, philosophy consists of two parts, the phi- 
losophy of body, and the philosophy of spirit or*mind. 
The lalter, which is our present business, has been some- 
times called the abstract philosophy; because it treats 
of things, abstracted or distinguished from matter; and 
sometimes it is called moral philosophy, on account of 
its influence on life and manners. It consists, like eve- 
ry other branch of science, of a speculative and a prac- 
tical part: the former being employed in ascertaining the 
appearances, and tracing out the laws, of nature ; the 
latter, in applying this knowledge to practical and use- 
ful purposes. But to keep these two parts always, and 
entirely distinct, would, if at all practicable, occasion no 
little inconvenience- 

7. The speculative part of the philosophy of mind has 
been called pneumatology. It enquires into the nature 
of those spirits or minds, whereof we may have certain 
knowledge, and wherewith it concerns us to be acquain- 
ted; and those are the Deity and the human mind. Of 
other spirits, as good and evil angels, and the vital prin- 
ciple of brutes, (if this may be called spirit), though we 
know that such things exist, we have not from the light of 
nature any certain knowledge, nor is it necessary that 
we should. Pneumatology, therefore, consists of two 
parts, first, natural theology, which evinces the being 
and attributes of the Deity, as far as these are discov- 
erable by a right use of reason; and, secondly, the 
philosophy of the human mind, which some writers 
have termed psychology. We begin with the latter, 
because it is more immediately the object of our 
experience.— An Appendix will be subjoined, concern- 
ing the immortality and incorporeal nature of the 
human soul. 

8. The mind of man may be improved, in respect, 
first of action, and secondly, of knowledge. The prac- 
tical part, therefore, of this abstract philosophy, con- 
sists of two parts, moral philosophy (strictly so called,) 
which treats of the improvement of our active or moral 
powers; and logic, which treats of the improvement 
of our intellectual faculties. Thus we see that the mo~ 

B 2 



10 INTRODUCTION. 

ral sciences may be reduced to four, psychology; na- 
tural THEOLOGY, MORAL PHILOSOPHY*, and LOGIC. 

These, with their several divisions and subdivisions, I 
shall consider in that order which may be found the 
most convenient. 



* Se« the conclusion of the preceding advertise- 
ment. 



ELEMENTS 



O F 



MORAL SCIENCE. 




PSYCHOLOGY. 

9. r THHIS science explains the nature of the several 
powers or faculties of the human mind. By, 
the faculties of the mind, I understand those capacities 
^hich it has, of exerting itself, in perceiving, think- 
ing, remembering, imagining, &c. ; and by the wind 
itself or soul, or spirit*, of man, 1 mean that part of 
the human constitution, which is capable of perceiving, 
thinking, and beginning motion, and without which our 
body would be a senseless, motionless and lifeless, 
thing. These faculties were long ago divided into 
those of perception and those of volition : and the divi- 
sion, though not accurate, may be adopted here. By the 
psrceptive powers, v/e are supposed to acquire know- 
ledge : and by the powers of volition, or will; we are 
saH to exert ourselves in aclion. 



* These words are not strictly synonymous; but it 
is needless to be more explicit in this place, 



12 ELEMENTS OF Part L 

CHAPTER L 

The perceptive faculties. 

10. *Tp H E S E may perhaps be reduced to nine. 
-1 1. External sensation, by which we acquire 
the knowledge of bodies and their qualities. 2. Con- 
sciousness, by which we attend to the thoughts of our 
minds, and which is also called reflection. 3. Memory. 
4. Imagination. 5. Dreaming. 6. The faculty of 
speech, whereby we discover what is passing in the 
minds of one another. 7. Abstraction, a thing to be ex- 
plained by and by. 8. Reason, judgment, or under- 
standing, by which we perceive the difference between 
truth and falsehood. 9. Conscience, or the moral fa- 
culty, whereby we distinguish' between virtue and vice, 
between what ought to be done, and what ought not 
to be done. 

11. Whether this distribution of our perceptive pow- 
ers be accurate, or sufficiently comprehensive, will 
perhaps appear afterwards : at present we need not 
stop to enquire. I shall consider them, not in the order 
in which I have just now named them, but in that order 
that shall seem the most convenient. And I begin with 
the faculty of speech : that subject, being connected with 
some others* that my hearers are already acquainted 
with, and therefore likely to be attended with little diffi- 
culty, even to those who are not much accustomed to 
abstract enquiry ; to which it will for that reason, serve 
as a proper and easy introduction. But before I pro- 
ceed to it» a few remarks must be premised, for the pur- 
pose of explaining some words, which will frequently 
occur in the course of these enquiries. 

SECTION I. 

Some words explained* 

12.*TpHAT we exist, and are continually employed 
i about a variety of things, is certain and self- 
evident. Sometimes we perceive things themselves : 
and this happens when they are so far present with 



Cb. I. 1. MORAL SCIENCE. 13 

us, as to affect our organs or powers of sensation : thus 
we just now perceive light* and the other things around 
us. Sometimes we think of things, when they are not 
in this sense present with us. Thus at midnight, or 
when our eyes are shut, we can think of light, and the 
other things we have seen or heard during the day. 
When we thus think of that which we do not perceive^ 
that is, which does not affect our powers of sensation or 
perception, we are said, in the language of modern phi- 
losophy, to have an idea or a notion of it. Habere nctio- 
nem rei alicujus, is a Latin phrase of like import. 

13. The word idea has been applied to many pur- 
poses ; and from the inaccurate manner in which some 
writers have used it, has proved the occasion of many 
errors. It has been used to denote opinion, as when we 
speak of the ideas of Aristotle, meaning his opinions or 
doctrines : but this sense of the word, is rather French 
than English. Sometimes it means one's particular way 
of conceiving or comprehending a thing ; as when we 
say, the Epicurean philosophy, according to Cicero's idea 
of it, was very unfriendly to virtue. It was long used to 
signify an imaginary thing, by the intervention of which 
we were supposed to perceive external things, or bodies. 
For many ancient and modern philosophers fancied* that 
the soul could perceive nothing but what was contiguous 
to it, or in the same place with it ; and, as the bodies we 
perceive without us, are not in the same place with the 
soul, (for, if they were, they would all be within the 
human body,) it was said, that we did not perceive 
those bodies themselves, but only ideas or unsubstantial 
images of them, which proceeded from them, and, pene- 
trating the human body, might be in the same place with 
the soul, or contiguous to it. All this is not only fiction, 
but unintelligible- V r e perceive bodies themselves ; and 
can as easily understand how the soul should perceive 
what is distant, as how it should perceive what is contigu- 
ous or near. 

14- In the Platonic, and perhaps, too. in the Pytha- 
gorean ph»losophv, ideas are those external, self-existent, 
and uncreated) models, prototypes, or patterns, accord- 
in to w» ;. th Deity made 3ll things, of an eternal 
and uncreated matter ; and which, while he employs 



i4 ELEMENTS OF 

himself in creation, he continually looks upon : whence 
it is supposed that the word foe* (from s$«v, to see, or 
behold) is derived. Cicero gives two Latin terms cor- 
responding to idea, in this sense of the word ; and 
those are species and forma. The first (derived from the 
old Latin verb, specie, I behold) is more according to 
analogy ; but is inconvenient, because those oblique ca- 
ses in the plural, specierum and speciebus, cannot be admit- 
ted into good Latin : and therefore our author prefers 
the other word, forma, to whose plural cases there can 
be no objection. Of these self-existent ideas, Plato was, 
as Cicero says, marvellously fond ; supposing that there 
was something divine in their nature. The word idea, 
in this sense of it, we shall not often have occasion to 
repeat. 

15. The same word has still another meaning among 
philosophers ; having been used to denote a thought 
of the mind, which may be expressed by a general term, 
or common appellative, that is, by a noun which is not 
a proper name. The words, man, horse, mountain, &c. 
are significant of ideas, in this sense of the term ; and 
are general names, or common appellatives ; because 
they belong equally to every man, every horse, every 
mountain. That this may be the better understood, and 
in order to prepare my hearers for some things that 
will immediately follow, it is proper to introduce here 
a few remarks on that faculty of our nature, which 
some have called abstraction, or the power of forming 
general ideas, by arranging things in classes ; a facul- 
ty, which the brutes probably have not. and without 
which both language and science would be impossi- 
ble. 

16. All the things in nature are individual things: 
that is, every thing is itself and one, and not another or 
more than one. But when a number of individual 
things are observed to resemble each other, in one or 
more particulars of importance, we refer them to a 
class, tribe, or species, to which we ^ive a name ; and 
this name belongs equally to every thing comprehend- 
ed in the species. Thus, all animals of a certain form 
rese >»ble each other in having four feet ; and therefore 
we consider them as in this respect of the same species. 



Ch. I. 1. MORAL SCIENCE. 15 

to which we give the name quadruped : and this name 
belongs equally to every individual of the species — 
from the elephant, one of the greatest, to the mouse, one 
of the least. 

17. Again, observing several species to resemble each 
other, in one or more particulars of importance, we 
refer them to a higher class, called a genus, to which 
we give a name ; which name belongs equally to every 
species comprehended in the genus, and to every indi- 
vidual comprehended in the several species. Thus all 
the tribes of living things resemble each other in this 
respect, that they have life ; whence we refer them to 
a genus called animal ; and this name belongs equally, to 
every species of animals, to men, beasts, fishes, fowls, 
and insects, and to each individual man, beast, fish, fowl, 
and insect. 

18. Further: all things, animate and inanimate, 
resemble each other in this respect, that they are crea- 
ted ; whence we refer them to a genus still higher, 
which may be called creature : a name which belongs 
equally to every ge?ius and species of created things, and 
to each individual thing that is created. Further still : 
all beings whatever exist, or are, and in this respeft, 
may be said to resemble each other : in which view we 
refer them to a genus still higher, ealled being, which 
is the highest possible genus. 

19. The English word, kind, is said to have been ori- 
ginally of the same import with genus, and sort the 
same with species. But the words, kind and sort, have 
long been confounded by our best writers ; and hence, 
when we would speak accurately on this subject, we 
are obliged to take the words, genus and species* from 
another language. All those thoughts or conceptions of 
the mind, which we express by names significant of 
genera and sfiecies, may be called general ideas, and have 
been, by some philosophers, called ideas simply. And 
those thoughts or conceptions* which we express by 
proper names, or by general names, so qualified by 
pronouns, as to denote individual things or persons, may 
be railed singu'ar or particu'ar ideas ; and were, by some 
English writers of the last century, termed, notions. In 
this sense of the words, one has a notion of Socrates, Etna. 



16 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

this town, that house; and ' an idea of man, mounts in, 
house* town. It were to be wished, that the words idea 
and notion had been still thus distinguished : but they 
have long been applied to other purposes. And now 
idea seems to express a clearer, and notion a fainter con- 
ception. 

20. Of the manner, in which the mind forms gene- 
ral ideas, so much has been said by metaphysical writers, 
that without great expense of time, not even an abridg- 
ement of it could be given : and I apprehended it would 

not be easy to make such an abridgment useful, or even 
intelligible. It appears to me, that, as all things are 
individuals, all thoughts n ust be so too. A thought, 
therefore, is still but one thought ; and cannot, as such, 
have that universality in its appearance, which a ene- 
ral term has in its signification. In short, as I under- 
stand the words, to have general ideas, or general concep- 
tions, is nothing more, than to know the meaning 
and use of general terms, or common appellatives. Pro- 
per names occur in language much more seldom than 
general terms. And therefore, if we had not this facul- 
ty of arranging things according to their genera and spe- 
cies, general terms would not be understood, and con- 
sequently language (as already observed) would be im- 
possible. 

21. There is another sort of abstraction, which af- 
fects both our thinking and our speaking ; and takes 
place, when we consider any quality of a thing sepa- 
rately from the thing itself, and speak and think of it 
as if it were itself a thing, and capable of being charac- 
terised by qualities. Thus from beautiful animal, moving 
animal, cruel aaniml, separate the qualities, and make 
nouns of them, and they become, beauty, motion, cruel- 
ty ; which are called in grammar, abstract nouns ; and 
which, as if they stood for real things, may be charac- 
terised by qualities, great beauty* swift motion* barbarous 
cruelty These qualities, too, mav be abstracted and 
changed into nouns, greatness, swiftness, barbarity, &c. 
Of these abstract nouns there are multitudes in every 
language. 



Ch.I.H. MORAL SCIENCE. 1* 

SECT. II. 

Of ins faculty of speech. 

22. TPHE philosophy of speech is an important and 
JL curious part of science. In treating ot it, I 
shall, first, explain the origin and general nature of 
speech ; and, secondly, consider the essentials of lar- 
guage, by showing how many sorts of words are neces- 
sary for expressing all the varieties of human thought* 
and what is the nature and use of each particular sort. 

Origin and general nature of speech. 

23. Man is the only animal that can speak ; for 
speech implies the arrangement and separation of our 
thoughts ; and this is the work of reason and reflexion. 
Articulate sounds, resembling speech, may be uttered 
by parrots, by ravens, and even by machines but this 
is not speech, because it implies neither reflexion, nor 
reason, nor any separation of successive thoughts— be- 
cause, in a word, the machine or parrot does not, and 
cannot, understand the meaning of what it is thus made 
to utter. 

24. The natural voices of brute animals are not, how- 
ever, without meaning. But they differ from speech ia 
these three respects : First, man speaks by art and imi- 
tation ; whereas, brutes utter voices without being 
taught, that is, by the instinct of their nature. Second- 
ly, the voices of brutes are not separable into simple 
elementary sounds, as the speech of man is, nor do they 
admit of that amazing variety, whereof our articulate 
voices are susceptible. And, thirdly, they seem to ex- 
press, not separate thoughts or ideas, but such feelingSj 
pleasant or painful, as it may be necessary, for the good 
of those animals, or for the benefit of man, that they 
should have the power of uttering. 

25. We learn to speak, by imitating the speech of 
others ; so that he who is born quite deaf, and continues 
so, must of necessity be dumb. Instances there have 
been, of persons, who had heard in the beginning of life, 

C 



16 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

and afterwards became deaf, using a strange sort of 
language, made up partly of words they had learned 
and partly of other words they had invented. Such 
persons could guess at the meaning of what was spoken 
to them, in their own dialecl, by looking the speaker in 
the face, and observing the lips, and those other parts of 
the face which are put in motion by speaking. 

26. We speak in order to make our thoughts known 
to others* Now thoughts themselves are not visible, 
nor can they be perceived by any outward sense. If, 
therefore, I make my thoughts perceptible to another 
man, it must be by means of signs, which he and I un- 
derstand in the same sense. The signs, that express hu- 
man thought, so as to make it known to others, are of 
two sorts, natural and artificial. 

27. The natural signs of thought are those outward 
appearances in the eyes» complexion, features gesture, 
and voice, which accompany certain emotions of the 
mind, and which, being common to all men, are -uni- 
versally understood. For example, uplifted hands and 
eyes, with bended knees, are, in every part of the 
world, known to signify earnest entreaty : fiery eyes, 
wrinkled brows, quick motions, and loud voice, betoken 
anger : paleness and trembling are signs of fear, tears 
of sorrow, laughter of merriment, &c. Compared with 
the multitude of our thoughts, these natural signs are 
but few, and therefore insufficient for the purposes of 
speech. Hence artificial signs have been universally 
adopted, which derive their meaning from human contri- 
vance, and are not undei stood except by those who have 
been taught the use of them. 

28. These artificial signs may be divided into visible 
and audible. The former are used by dumb men,— -by 
ships that sail in company — and sometimes by people 
at land, who, by means of fire and other signals, com- 
municate intelligence from one place to another : but 
for the ordinary purposes of life, such contrivances 
would be inconvenient and insufficient. And therefore, 
audible signs, performed by the human voice, are in 
all nations used, in order to communicate thought. For 
the human voice has an endless variety of expression ; 



Ch. Ml. MORAL SCIENCE. 19 

and is, in all its varieties, easily managed, and distinctly 
perceptible by the human ear, in darkness, as well as in 
light. 

29. Human voice is air sent out from the lungs, and 
by the windpipe conveyed through the aperture of the 
larynx, where the breath operates upon the membranous 
lips of that aperture, so as to produce distinct and audi- 
ble sound, in a way resembling that in which the lips of 
the reed of a hautboy produce musical sound, when one 
blows into them. We may indeed breathe strongly, 
without uttering what is called voice : and in order to 
transform our breath into vocal sound, it seems necessa- 
ry, that, by an a6l of our will, which long practice has 
rendered habitual, we should convey a sort of tenseness 
to the parts through which the breath passes. New-born 
infants do this instinctively ; which changes their breath- 
ing, when s ronger than usual, into crying And per- 
sons in great pain do the same ; which transforms their 
breathing into groans. 

30 The aperture of the larynx is called the glottis, 
and, when we swallow food or drink, is covered with a 
lid called the epiglottis. As our voice rises in its tone, 
the glottis becomes narrower, and wider as the voice be- 
comes more grave or deep. Now, any ordinary human 
voice may sound a great variety of tones : and each va- 
riety of tone is occasioned by a variation in the diameter 
of the glottis. And therefore, the muscles and fibres, 
that minister to the motion of these parts, must be ex- 
ceedingly minute and delicate. 

31. One may use one's voice without articulation ; 
as when one sings a tune without applying syllables to 
it: in which case the vocal organs perform no other 
part than that of a wind instrument of music. But 
speech is made up of articulate voices .* and articulation 
is performed by those parts of the throat and mouth, 
which the voice passes through, in its way from the la- 
rynx to the open air ; namely, by the tongue, palate, 
throat, lips, and nostrils. Speech is articulated voice : 
whispering is articulated breath. 

32. Of vocal articulate sounds, the simplest are those 
which proceed through an open mouth, and which are 
called vowel soundst In transmitting these, the open- 



20 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

ing of the mouth may be pretty large, or somewhat 
smaller, or very small ; and thus three different vowel 
soujkLs may be formed, each of which may admit of 
three varieties, according as the voice, in its passage 
through the inside of the mouth, is acled upon by the 
lips, the tongue or the throat. In this way, nine simple 
vowel sounds may be produced. There are ten in ihe 
English tongue, though we have not a vowel letter for 
each. Indeed our alphabet of vowels is very imperfect. 
In other languages there may be vowel sounds different 
from any we have : that of the French u is one. 

33. When the voice, in its passage through the mouth* 
is totally intercepted by the articulating organs coming to- 
gether, or strongy compressed, by their near approach to 
one another, there is formed another sort of articulation, 
which, in writing, is marked by a character called a con- 
sonant. Now silence is the efiVcl of a total interception 
of the voice ; and indistinctness of sound is produced by 
a strong compression of it. — \nd therefore a consonant 
can have no distinct sound, unless it be preceded or fol- 
lowed by a vowel, or opening of the mouth. 

34. The variety of consonants, formed by a total inter- 
ception of the voice, may be thus accounted for. The 
voice, in its passage through the inside of the mouth, 

.may be totally intercepted by the lips, or by the tongue 
and palate, or by the tongue and throat ; and each of 
these interceptions may happen, when the voice is direct- 
ed to go out by the mouth only, or by the nose only, or 
partly by the mouth, and partly by the nose. In this 
way, we form nine primitive consonants ; which are di- 
vided into mutes, P, T, K ; semimutes, B, D, and G as 
sounded in egg ; and semivowels, M, N, and that sound 
of NO, which is heard in king) and which, though we 
mark it by two letters, is as simple a sound as any other. 
The mutes are so called, because their sound instantly 
and totally ceases on bringing the organs together ; the 
semimutes, because a little faint sound is heard in the 
nostrils, or roof of the mouth, after the organs intercept 
the voice ; and the semivowels, because their sound es- 
caping through the nostrils, may be continued for a con- 
siderable time after the voice is intercepted. 



Ch. I. ii. MORAL SCIENCE. 21 

35 When the voice, directed to go out by the mouth 
only, or by the mouth and nose jointly, is not totally in- 
tercepted, but strongly compressed, in its passage, there is 
formed another class of consonants, which are the aspira- 
tions of the mutes and semimutes. Thus, P is changed 
into F ; B into V ; T into that sound of TH, which is 
heard in thing ; D into that sound of TH which is heard 
in this, th.it, thine. Fhe semivowels do not admit of a- 
spiration, or at least are not aspirated in our language. 
And we have some irregular consonants, that cannot 
be accounted for according to this mode of arrangement, 
as L and R, S and SH ; and in other tongues there may 
be consonant as well as vowel sounds with which we are 
not acquainted. 

36. In English, the simple elementary sounds are 
thirty-two or thirty-three ; namely* ten vowels, and 
twenty two or twenty-three consonants. Our alphabet, 
therefore, if it were perfect, would consist of thirty-two 
or thirty-three letters. But, like other alphabets, it is 
imperfect, having several unnecessary letters, and want- 
ing some which it ou^ht lo have. Our spelling is equal- 
ly imperfect ; for many of our words have letters which 
are not sounded at all ; and the same letter has not, in 
every word, the same sound. Hence, some ingenious 
men have thought of reforming our alphabet, by introdu- 
cing new letters — and our spelling by striking off such as 
are unnecessary, and writing as we speak. But both 
schemes are unwise ; because they would involve our 
laws and literature in confusion ; and impracticable, 
because pronunciation is liable to change and no two 
provinces in the British empire have exactly the same 
pronunciation. 

37. By attending to those motions of the articulating 
organs, whereby the elementary sounds of speech are 
formed, an art has been invented, of teaching those to 
speak, who do not hear. But it is most laborious and by 
no means useful ; for the articulation of such persons is 
so uncouth, as to give horror, rather than pleasure, to the 
hearer. The time, therefore, that is employed w this 
study, might be laid out to better purpose, in teaching 
those unfortunate persons the use of written language, 

C2 



22 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

the art of drawing, and a convenient system of visible 
signs, for the communication of thought. Every neces- 
sary letter of the alphabet might be signified by pointing 
to a certain joint of the fingers or to some other part 
of the hand and the more common words, by other 
visible signs of the same nature : and such a contrivance, 
when a du b man beco nes expert in it, and has learned 
to read and spell, would be of very great use to him. 

38. By combining consonants with consonants, and 
with vowels and diphthongs, an endless variety of sylla- 
bles, and consequently of words, may be formed. In 
English, exclusive of proper names, and of words deri- 
ved from them, the number of words does not amount 
to fifty thousand ■ but most of them have several, and 
so e of them many significations. Two vowels, coa- 
lescing in one syllable, so as to form a double vowel 
sound, make what is called a diphthong, as ou in round, ui 
in juice : and sometimes a diphthongal sound is express- 
ed by a single vowel letter ; as u in muse, i in mind — and 
sometimes by three vowel letters ; as eau in beauty, ieu 
in lieu. 

39. As much speech as we pronounce with one effort 
of the articulating organs, is called a syllable. It may 
be a single vowel, as a, o ; or a diphthong, as oi ; or ei- 
ther of these, modified by one or more consonants, pla- 
ced before it, or after it, or on both sides of it ; as to, 
of, toy, oi , top, cup, boil, broi s, swift, strength, Sec. The 
least part of language that has a meaning, is a word : 
and words derive their meaning from common use : and 
it is both our interest and our duty, to use them in the 
common acceptation. 

40. Some words are long, and others short. Those 
that are in continual use, as articles, pronouns, auxili- 
ary words, prepositions, and conjunctions, ought to be 
short, and generally are so. Primitive words are in 
most languages short ; which proves, that those authors 
are mistaken, who affirm, on the authority of some tra- 
vellers, that barbarous languages abound in long words. 
Such travellers probably mistook a description of cir- 
cumlocution for a single word : and as the voice, in 
speaking> does not make a pause at the end of each 



Ch. I. ii. MORAL SCIENCE. 23 

word, it is not unnatural for those, who hear what they 
do not understand, to mistake two or more successive 
words for one. bhort words do not make style inharmo- 
nious, or insipid, unless they be in themselves harsh, or 
of little meaning. 

41. Words alone do not constitute speech; emphasis 
and accent belong to all languages. The former is of 
two sorts — the emphasis of words, and the emphasis 
of syllables. The first is a stronger exertion of the 
voice, laid upon some words, in order to distinguish 
the more significant parts of a sentence. Tht last is an 
energy of the voice, laid upon some syllables of a 
word more than upon others, because custom has so 
determined- 

42. The first, which may be called the rhetorical 
emphasis, is necessary to make spoken language per- 
fectly intelligible. For, if the speaker or reader 
misapply the emphasis, by laying the force of his voice 
upon the less significant, or not laying it on the more 
significant, words, the hearer must, in many cases, mis- 
take the meaning. And no person in reading can apply 
the en>phasis properly, unless he read slowly, be conti- 
nually attentive, and understand the full import of 
every word he utters. Children, therefore, while learn- 
ing to read, ought to read nothing but what they per- 
fectly understand. The emphasis of speech is by most 
grammarians, called accent: but accent is quite a dif- 
ferent thing. 

43. Accent is the tone with which one speaks. For, 
in speaking, the voice of every man is sometimes 
more grave in the sound, and at other times n ore acute 
or shrill. Accent is related to music or song ; as appears, 
in the formation of the Latin word, from ad and cantus, 
and in that of the correspondent Greek term vrpoo-utitet 
from frpos and u$n* Many people are insensible of the 
tone with which themselves and their neighbours speak: 
but all perceive the tone of a stronger, who comes from 
a considerable distance: and if his tone seem in any 
decree uncouth or unpleasant to them, theirs, it is 
likely, is equally so to him. This at least is true of 
provincial accents. That accent, and that pronuncia- 



24 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

tion, is generally in every country accounted the best, 
which is used in the metropolis, by the most polite and 
learned persons. 

44. The Greeks, used, in writing, certain marks, cal- 
led accents, in order to make the tones of their language 
of *nore easy acquisition to foreigners: and those still 
remain in their books; but we can make no use of them: 
because we know not in what way they regulated the 
voice. Every language, and almost every provincial 
dialect, is distinguished by peculiarities of tone: and 
nothing is more difficult than to acquire those tones of 
language, that one has not learned in early life: so that 
the native country, and even the native province of a 
stranger* may be known by his accent, which, in both 
public and private life* is frequently an advantage. 

45. We learn to speak, when our organs are most 
flexible, and our powers of imitation most active; that 
is, when we are infants: and, even then, this is no easy 
acquisition — being the effect of constant practice, con- 
tinued every day for some years, from morning to night. 
Were we never to atten pt speech till grown up, there 
is reason to think, that we should never learn to speak 
at all. nd therefore, if there ever was a time when 
all mankind weie dumb mutum et turpe pecus, as Epicu- 
rus taught, all mankind must, in the ordinary course 
of things, have continued dumb to this day. For 
speech could not be necessary to animals who were 
supposed to have existed for ages without it tnd a> 
mong such animals, the invention of unnecessary and 
difficult arts, whereof they saw no example in the world 
around them, was not to be expected. And speech, 
if invented at all by them, must have been invented* 
either by dumb infants, who were incapable of inven- 
tion* or by dumb men who were incapable of speech. 
Mankind, therefore, must have spoken in all ages; the 
young constantly learning to speak by imitating those 
who were older. And if so, our first parents must 
have received this art, as well as some others by inspi- 
ration. 

46. Moses informs us that the first language continu- 
ed to be spoken by all mankind, till the building of 
Babel> that is for about two thousand years. But, on 



Chap. I. ii. MORAL SCIENCE. 25 

that occasion, a miraculous confusion of languages took 
place; which must have immediately divided the hu- 
man race into tribes or nations, as they only would 
choose to keep together, who understood one another : 
and which accounts for the great variety of primitive 
tongues now in the world. By primitive tongues I mean 
those, which having no resemblance to any other tongue 
in the sound of their words, are not supposed to be 
deprived from any other. Greek and ■ atin resemble 
one another not a little; whence it is probable, that 
both were derived from some primitive tongue more 
ancient than either. The modern languages of France, 
Spain, Italy, and Portugal, resemble one another very 
much: and we know, they are in a great measure deri- 
ved from the ancient Latin. 

47. But there is no reason to think, that at Babel any 
other material alteration was introduced inio human 
nature. And as men ever since have had the same 
farulties, and been placed in the same or in similar 
circumstances, it may be presumed* that the modes of 
human thought must have been much the same from 
that time forward; and. consequently! as speech ari- 
ses from thought, that all languages must have some 
resen blance, in structure at least, if not in sound ; 
those particulars, in which all languages resemble one 
another, must be essential to language. The essentials 
of language I shall proceed to consider, when I have 
made a remark or two on speech, made visible by wri- 
ting. 

48. A word is an audible and articulate sign of 
thought: a letter is a visible sign of an articulate 
sound. Every man can speak, who hears ; and men 
have spoken in all ages; but in many nations, the art 
of waiting is still unknown. For before men can invent 
writing, they must divide their speech into words, and 
subdivide their words into simple elementary sounds, 
assigning to each sound a pirticul^r visible symbol: 
which, though ensv to us, because we know the art, is 
never thought of by savages, and ha? been overlooked, 
or not sufficiently attended to. by some nations of very 
long standing. Bv means of writing, huo an thoughts 
may be made more durable than any other work of 



26 ELEMENTSOF Part I. 

man; may be circulated in all nations; and may be so 
corrected, compared, and compounded, as to exhibit, 
within a moderate compass, the accumalated wisdom 
of many ages- It is therefore needless to enlarge upon 
the usefulness of this art, as the means of ascertaining) 
methodizing, preserving, and extending human know- 
ledge. 

49. There is reason to think, that this art must have 
been in the world from very early times, and that the 
use of an alphabet was known before the hieroglyphics 
of Egypt were invented. These last were probably con- 
trived for the purpose of expressing mysteries of reli- 
gion and government in a way not intelligible to the vul- 
gar. For a hieroglyphic is a sort of riddle addressed to 
the eye ; as if the figure of a circle were carved on a 
pillar, in order to represent eternity; a lamp, to denote 
life ; an eye on the top of a sceptre, to signify a sove- 
reign. Such conceits imply refinement rather than sim- 
plicity, and the disguise rather than the exhibition of 
thought; and therefore seem to have been the contri- 
vance of men, who were in quest not of a necessary, but 
of a mysterious, art : who had leisure to be witty and al- 
legorical ; who cnu'd express their thoughts plainly, bat 
did not choose to do it. 

5o* «n China, they understand writing and printing, 
too, and have done so, we are told, for many ages; but 
to this day they have not invented an alphabet, at least 
their men of learning use none* They are said to have 
a distin6l ch a racier for each of their words, about four- 
score thousand in all ; which makes it impossible for a 
foreigner, and extremely difficult to a native, to under- 
stand their written language. In very early times, men 
wrote, by engraving on stone ; afterwards by tracing 
our figures with a coloured liquid upon wood, the bark 
of trees; the Egyptian papyrus manufactured into a sort 
of paper, tbe skins of goats, sheep, and calves made into 
parchment* in a word, different contrivances have been 
adopted in different ages, and by difF rent nations. Pens, 
ink and paper, as we use the u, are said to have been in- 
troduced into these parts of the world, about six hun- 
dred years ago* 



Ch. I. in. MORAL SCIENCE. 27 

51. The first printing known in Europe was, like 
that of the Chinese, from whom, however, our prin- 
ters did not borrow it), by blocks of wood, whereon 
were engraved all the characters of every page. This 
art is supposed to have been invented in Germany, or 
in Flanders, about the year 1420. Printing with move- 
able types was found out about thirty years later, and 
is a very great improvement upon the former method. 
By means of this wonderful art, books are multiplied 
to such a degree, that every family (I had almost said 
every person; may now have a bible, which, when ma- 
nuscripts only were in use, every parish could hardly 
afford to have ; as the expense of writing out so great a 
book, would be at least equal to that of building an 
ordinary country church This one example may sug- 
gest a hint for estimating the importance of the art of 
printing. 

52. Within less than a century after it was invented, 
printing was brought to perfection in France, by the il- 
lustrious Robert Stephen and his son Henry* who were 
not only the greatest of printers, but also the most learn- 
ed men of modern times ; and to whom, for their beauti- 
ful and correct editions of the classics, and for their dic- 
tionaries of the Greek and Latin tongues, every modern 
scholar is under very great obligations. 

SECT. in. 

Essentials of language. 

53. T TOW many sorts of words are necessary in lan- 
A X guage ? And what is the nature and use of each 
particular sort? When we have answered these two 
questions, we may be supposed to have discussed the pre- 
sent subject. In English, there are ten sorts of words ; 
which are all found in the following short sentence : 
" I now see the good man coming, but alas! he walks 
u with difficulty." / and Be are pronouns ; now is an 
adverb ; see and walks are verbs; the is an article; good, 
an adjective ; man and difficulty are nouns, the former 
substantive* the latter abstract ; coming is a participle ; 
but, a conjunction ; alas, an interjection ; with, a preposi- 



28 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

tion. That no other sorts of words are necessary in lan- 
guage! will appear, when we have seen in what respects 
these are necessary. 

54. Of nouns. A noun, or, as it is less properly 
called, a substantive, is the name of the thing spoken of. 
Without this sort of word, men could not speak of one 
another, or of any thing else. Nouns, therefore, there 
must be in all languages. Those, which denote a genus, 
as animal, or a species, as mm, may be applied either 
to one or to many things, and must therefore be so con- 
trived, as to express both unity and plurality. But a 
noun, which is applicable to one individual only, and 
which is commonly called a proper name, cannot, where 
language is suited to the nature of things* have a plural. 
Proper names, therefore, when they take a plural as well 
as a singular form, cease to be proper names, and be- 
come the names of classes or tribes of beings ; so that, 
when one szys-*-duodecim Casares, the twelve Cesars — 
the noun is used as an appellative, common to twelve 
persons. Two numbers, the singular and plural, are all 
that are necessary in language. Some ancient tongues, 
however, a^ the Hebrew, the Celtic, and the Attic and 
Poetic dialects of the Greek, have also a dual number to 
express two ; but this is superfluous. And some nouns 
there are, in every language, perhaps, that have no sin- 
gular, and some that have no plural, even when there is 
nothing in their signification to hinder it ; this is irregu- 
lar and accidental. 

55. Another thing essential to nouns, \s gender, to sig- 
nify sex. All things are either male, or female, or both, 
or neither. Duplicity of sex being uncommon and doubt- 
ful, language has no expression for it in the structure of 
nouns, but considers all things, and all the names of 
things, as masculine and feminine, or as neuter; which 
last word denotes neither feminine nor masculine. Of all 
things without sex, the names in some languages, parti- 
cularly English, are, or may be, neuter: in Latin and 
Greek, and many other tongues, the gender of nouns* 
denoting things without sex, is fixed by the termination 
of the noun, or by its declension, or by some other cir- 
cumstances) too minute to be here specifiedt 



fch. I. in. MORAL SCIENCE. *f 

56. Things without sex have sometimes masculine o'v 
feminine names, from a supposed analogy which they 
seem to bear to things that have sex. Thus, on account 
of his great power, death is masculine in Greek, and in 
English has been called the king of terrors. But this 
does not hold universally. In Latin, and many other 
languages, Death is feminine : and in German, and some 
other northern tongues, the sun is feminine, and the 
moon masculine. Sometimes the name of an animal 
species is both masculine and feminine; which, howe- 
ver, implies nothing like duplicity of sex, and means no 
more than that the name belongs to every individual of 
the species, whether male or female. 

57. When the sex of animals is obvious, and mate- 
rial to be known, one name is sometimes given to the 
male, and another to the female ; as king, queen ; son, 
daughter ; man, woman, &c. When the sex is less ob- 
vious, or less important, as in insects, fishes, and many- 
sorts of birds, one name serves for both sexes, and is 
masculine or feminine according to the custom of the 
language. And here let it be remarked, once for all, th t 
in what relates to the gender of nouns, and indeed in al- 
most every part of the grammar of every language, cer- 
tain arbitrary rules have been established, which cannot 
be accounted for philosophically, from the nature of the 
thing ; which therefore it belongs not to universal gram- 
mar to consider; and for which no other reason can be 
given, than that such is the law of the language, as cus- 
tom has settled it. 

58. Of pronouns. The name given to this class of 
words sufficiently declares their nature ; they being, 
in all languages, put, pro nominibus, in the place of 
nouns or of names. Persons conversing together may 
be ignorant of one another's names, and may have 
occasion to speak of things or persons absent or pre- 
sent, whose names they either do not know, or do not 
care to be always repeating. Words therefore there 
must be, to be used instead of such names •; and withal 
to ascertain the gender, situation, and some other obvi- 
ous and general circumstances of the things or persons 
spoken of. These words are called pronouns. Some 

D 



& ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

of them may introduce a sentence, and are therefore 
called prepositive, as, I, thou, he, she, this, that, &c. 
Others are termed subjunctive, or relative, because they 
subjoin a clause or sentence to something previous, as, 
qui, qu<e, quod, who, which, that. This sort of pronoun 
has the import of both a pronoun and a copulative con- 
junction, and may be resolved into et tile, et ilia, ct ilud. 

59. In conversation, the person who speaks, is first 
and chiefly attended to ; and the person spoken to is 
next. Hence, ego, I, is called the pronoun of the first 
person ; tu, thou, of the second ; and, as distinguished 
from these, he, she, and it are called pronouns of the 
third person. Those of the first and second need no 
distinclion of gender, as the sex of the speakers is ob- 
vious to each other, from the voice, dress, Sec. But the 
pronoun of the third person must have gender, ille, 
ilia, Mud, he, she, it ; because what is spoken of may 
be absent, and consequently its sex not obvious ; or 
inay be not a person, but a thing* and consequently of 
neither sex. The pronouns of all the three persons 
must have number; because the speaker, the hearer, or 
the thing or person spoken of, may be either one or 
more than one. Pronouns are not numerous in any 
language, very few being sufficient for all occasions on 
which they become necessary. The different classes 
of them are well enough distinguished in the common 
grammars. 

60. Of attributives. These are words which de- 
note the attributes, qualities, and operations, of things 
and persons* They form a very numerous class, and 
were, by the ancient grammarians, called p^«Ta, verba, 
whatever may be said or affirmed concerning persons or 
things. Thus, of a man it may be said, that he is good, 
that he speaks, or that he is walking. Attributives are of 
three sorts, adjectives, verbs, and participles. An adjec- 
tive, or epithet, denotes a quality and nothing more : as, 
good, bad, black, white. Verbs and participles denote qua- 
lities, too, but with the addition of something else, as 
will appear by and by* 

61. It is strange, that in all the common grammars, 
the adjective should be considered as a noun. It is no 



Ch. I. in. MORAL SCIENCE. 31 

more a noun, than it is a verb- Nay, verbs and adjec- 
tives are of nearer affinity than nouns and adjectives. 
For the verb and adjective agree in this, that both ex- 
press qualities or attributes; whereas the noun is the 
name of the thing to which qualities or attributes belong. 
And therefore the term adjective-noun is as improper as if 
we were to say, participle-noun, or verb-noun* 

62. In many languages, it is a rule, that the adjec- 
tive must agree with its noun in gender, number, and 
case : and where adjectives have gender, number, and 
case, the rule is reasonable and natural. But it is not 
so in all languages* English adjectives have neither gen- 
der or number ; but, like indeclinable Latin adjectives* 
(as frugt^ centum, nequam), are invariably the same. We 
say, a good man, a good woman; a good thing; good 
men, good women, good things ; without making any 
change in the adjeclive : and in this syntax we feel na 
inconvenience. And the same thing is true of English^ 
participles. 

63. One variation, however, those English adjectives., 
require, which in their signification admit of the dis- 
tinctions of more and less. This paper is white ; and 
snow is white ; but snow is whiter than this paper. 
Solon was wise, Socrates wiser, Solomon the wisest of 
men. The degrees are innumerable in which different 
things may possess the same quality: it is impossible 
to say with precision, how much wiser Solomon was 
than Socrates, or by how many degrees snow is whiter 
than this paper. But in human art there is no infinity ; 
and therefore we cannot, in language, have degrees of 
comparison to express all possible varieties of more and 
less. 

64. Two degrees of comparison, the comparative 
and superlative, are all that seem to be necessary ; 
and, for expressing these, different nations may have 
different contrivances : what is called the positive 
degree is the simple form of the adjeclive, and ex- 
presses neither degree nor comparison. Participles ad- 
mit not of the variation we speak of: when they seem 
to assume it, as when we say doctus, doctior, doctis^imus^ 
they cease to be participles, and become adjectives. 



32 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

Some adverbs admit of this variety, as diu, diutius^ diu» 
tissime. Verbs too may express degrees of comparison, 
but do it by means of auxiliary adverbs ; as mag is amat } 
vehementissime amat. 

65* The comparative degree denotes superiority, and 
implies a comparison of one or more persons or things, 
with another, or with others, that is or are set in opposi- 
tion: Solomon was wiser than Socrates ; the Athenians 
were more learned than the Thtbans ; he is more intel- 
ligent than all his teachers. There are two superlatives ; 
one implying comparison, and each denoting eminence 
or superiority. We use the former, when we say* Solo- 
mon was the wisest of men ; where Solomon is compar- 
ed to a species of beings of whom he is said to be one. 
We use the latter, when we say, Solomon was a very 
wise, or a most wise man. In these last sentences, com- 
parison, though remotely insinuated, is notr as in the for- 
mer example, expressly asserted* 

66. Of verbs. Man is endowed, not only with sen* 
ses to perceive, and memory to retain, but also with 
judgment, whereby we compare things and thoughts 
together, so as to make affirmations concerning them. 
When we say, Solomon wise, we affirm nothing; and 
the words are not a sentence. But when we say, So- 
lomon is wise, we utter a complete sentence, expressing 
a judgment and an affirmation, founded on a conpa- 

Tison of a certain man, Solomon, with a certain quality, 
wise. The judgment of the mind is here expressed by 
the affirmative word, is; and this word is a verb. A 
verb, therefore, seems to be " a word expressing affir- 
" mation, and necessary to form a complete sentence or 
"proposition." 

67. Here observe, that every proposition affirms or 
denies something; as, snow is white; riches are not 
permanent. Observe further, that the thing, concern- 
ing which we affirm or deny, is called the subject of the 
proposition, namely* snow in the one example, and 
riches in the other ; that what is affirmed or denied con- 
cerning the subject^ is called the predicate of the pro- 
position, namely, white in the one example, and per- 
manent in the other ; and that the words, whereby we 



Chap. I. m. MORAL SCIENCE. . 33 

affirm or deny, are called the copula of the proposition* 
namely, is in the one example, and are not in the other. 
It was said, that every proposition either affirms or de- 
nies. Now denial implies affirmation ; to deny that a 
thing is, is to affirm that it is not. In every sentence or 
proposition, therefore, there is affirmation, and a verb is 
that which expresses it. Consequently a verb w is ne- 
" cessary in every sentence ; and every verb expresses 
" affirmation. M 

68. Some affirmations have no dependence on time* 
with respect to their truth or falsehood. That God is 
good, that two and two are four, and that malevolence is 
not to be commended, always was, will, and must be true^ 
For expressing these and the like affirmations, those 
verbs alone are necessary, which the Latins call substan- 
tive, and the Greeks more properly verbs of existence , as 
sum, Jio, existOy hyu % yivPfxxi, Sec. But innumerable affir- 
mations are necessarily connected with time : I may 
affirm, that a thing was done, is done, or will be done. v 
In verbs, therefore, there must be a contrivance for ex- 
pressing time. Moreover, affirmations have a necessary 
connexion with a person or with persons : /, thou y hc % 
may affirm ; we, ye, or they may affirm. In a verb, there- 
fore, ** affirmation is expressedi together with time y num- 
u ber and person." 

69. Further ; our thoughts shift with great rapidity ; 
and it is natural for us to wish to speak as fast as we 
think. No wonder, then, that we should often, where, 
it be can done conveniently, express two or three 
thoughts by one word ; and particularly, that we should 
by one word, express both the attribute, and the affir- 
mation which connects that attribute with some per- 
son or thing Tn this way, and partly for this reason, we 
say scribo, I write, instead of ego sum senbens, I am writ- 
ing. And thus our idea of a verb is completed. And 
we may now define it, u a word necessary in every sen- 
* tence, and signifying affirmation, with respeel to some 
" attribute, together with the designation of time, num- 
u ber and person." Thus, scribo, I am writing, is a com- 
plete sentence, and comprehends these four things! 
first, /, the person> and one person: secondlv, am^ the 

D % 



34 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

affirmation; thirdly, writing, the attribute ; and fourthly, 
now* or present time. 

.70. But the verbs of all languages are not so complex: 
and this definition applies rather to Greek and Latin 
Terbs, than to those, of the modern tongues. For we ex- 
pressa great deal of the meaning of our verbs by auxilia- 
ry words; whereas the. Greeks and Romans generally 
varied the meaning of theirs by inflection, that is, by 
changing the form of the word. We must say, He might 
have witten, where a Roman needed only to say scripsis- 
set. Some auxiliary words, indeed, there -are in Greek 
and Latin verbs, but not near so many as in ours. In 
English, French, Italian, and other modern tongues* the 
passive ^verb (or passive voice, as it is called) is entirely 
made up of auxiliary words introducing the passive par- 
ticiple .; as, I am taught, they were taught, thou wilt be 
taught. S^c. 

71. This peculiarity, in the structure of modern verbs, 
is to be imputed to those northern nations who overturn- 
ed the Roman empire, establishing themselves and their 
government in the conquered provinces , and who, being 
an unlettered race of men, and not caring either to learn 
the Latin tongue, or teach their own to those whom they 
had conquered, formed in time a mixed language, made 
up partly of Latin words and partly of idioms of their 
ov« ; with a great number of auxiliary words, to supply 
the want of those Latin inflections, which they would nort 
give themselves the trouble to learn. It is not wholly im- 
probable^ that, originally, the Greek and Latin inflec- 
tions were also auxiliary words; which came to be, by 
th/e accidental pronunciation of successive ages, gradu- 
ally incorporated with the radical part of the verbs and 
nouns to which they belong. This, however, is only con- 
jecture ; but^it derives sorre plausibility from the nature 
of the anflecli-Gris of the Hebrew tongue, many of which 
may be accounted for in the way here hinted at. 

72. The attributes expressed by the verb may be 
reduced to 'four ,' -first, being, as, sum, I am; secondly, 
actirn. as, vulne-o, I wound; thirdly being acted upon, as, 
vidneror, I am -wounded; and fourthly, being at rest, as, 
ltdeo\ I s : t ; habi f c, I dwell. Now, without a reference 



Ch. I. in. MORAL SCIENCE. 80 

to time, not one of these attributes can be conceived ; 
for existence, action, suffering, and rest, do all imply 
time, and may all be referred to different parts of ti .e. 
Hence the origin of the times of verbs, commonly, 
though improperly, called the tenses. Time is past, pre- 
sent, or future. 

73. The tenses are in some languages reckoned five. 
But, if we consider the exact meaning of the several 
parts of the verb, we shall find, that, in the languages 
most familiar to us, there are eight or nine tenses ; 
though each may not have a particular form of the verb 
adapted to it. In other languages, there may perhaps 
be more : and in some, the Hebrew for example, there 
are not near so many ; two tenses, the past and the fu- 
ture, being all that the Hebrew grammarian acknow- 
ledges ; though, as may be reasonably imagined, means 
are not wanting for expressing in his language the im- 
port of other necessary tenses. 

74. Tenses may be divided, first, into those that are 
definite with respect to time, and those that, with respect 
to time are indefinite, or aorist : secondly, into those that, 
in respect of action, are perfect, and those which are imper- 
fect, in respect of action: thirdly, into simple tenses, expres- 
sive of one time— and compound tenses, expressive of more 
times than one. My examples on this subject 1 take from 
active verbs, they being the fullest and most complete of 
any. 

75. Tenses, definite in respect of time, are, 1. The de- 
finite present* scribo, I wrtte ; which refers to the present 
point of time, and to no other. 2. The preter perfect, I have 
written, which generally refers to past time, ending in 
or near the present. For this tense the Greeks have a 
particular form, yeygaQx ; but the « atins have not, ; for 
jcripsi signifies not only I have written, but also / wrote, 
and / did write, which last are aorists of the past, as will 
appear presently. 3. The paulo-post-future, scripiurus 
sum, L am about to write, which implies future time that is 
just troing to commence. 

76- Tenses, indefinite in time, or aorist, are, 1. The 
indefinite present, which appears in sentences like the fol- 
lowing ; God is good ; two and two are four ; a wise son 



36 ELEMENTS OF Part I 

makes a glad father, Sec* ; in which no particular pre- 
sent time is referred to, because these affirmations may 
be made with truth at all times. In Hebrew, and in 
Erse,- the import of this tense is expressed by the future ; 
which sometimes happens in English : for whether w r e 
say, A wise son makes a glad father, or will make a glad 
father, the sense is the same; 2. The aorist of the past, 
iypx^x, I wrote* or did write ; which refers to past time, 
but to no particular part of past time. 3. The indefinite 
future, ypx^w, scribam, I shall write; which in like man- 
ner refers to future time, but to no particular part of time 
future. 

77. Tenses perfect or complete in respect of action, are 
1. The pieterperfect, y^y^oc, I have written. 2. The 
aorist of the past, eypx^x, I wrote. 3. The ptusquamperfect, 
e^sypafeiv, scripseram, I had written. 4. The future per- 
fect, scripsero, 1 shall have written, or / shall have done wri- 
ting ; a tense, which the Greeks cannot express in one 
word ; and which is commonly though very improperly, 
called the future of the subjunctive. Scripsero in Greek 
would be lo-ofAxi ysygatpws. It is as truly of the indicative 
mood, as scribam, or scriptus ero. 

78. Tenses, imperfect or incomplete with respect to action, 
are, 1. The imperfect preterit, {ygotfyov, scribebam, 1 was 
writing. 2. The indefinite future, scribam, I shall write. 
3. The paulo-post -future* scripturus sum, I am about to write, 
which in Greek is fxiXXoj yga<pw. Observe, that the 
Greek paulo- post- future, (so called in the grammars;, as 
expressed by a single word, is found only in the passive 
verb ; yzy %ci\oy,o<.i, I am about to be written. Observe 
also, that the imperfect preterit often denotes in Latin, 
customary acYions, dicebat, he was wont to say, the same 
as solebat dicere. 

79. Compound tenses, which unite two or more times 
in one tense, are, 1. The prcterperfect, which generally, 
though not always, fat least in English), unites the past 
with the present, / have written ; where observe, that the 
auxiliary verb I have , is of the present tense, and the 
participle, written, signifies complete action and'implies 
past time. 2. The plusquamperfcct, scripseram, I had 
written, which unites past time with past time, and inti* 



Ch.Lin. MORAL SCIENCE. 37 

mates, that a certain aclion, was finished before another 
action* which is also past. He came to desire me not to 
write, but, I had written before he came. 3. The Jirure 
perfect, scripsero, I shall have done writing ; which unites 
present and past time with future ; and intimates, that 
when a certain time, now future, shall come to be pre- 
sent, I shall then have finished a certain aclion. Cras 
mane ho^a decima scripsero has Vieras, To -morrow morn- 
ing at ten, I shall have finished the writing of this letter. 
4. The pau''o-post future, which unites present with fu- 
ture time, as plainly appears in the Latin way of expres- 
sing it ; scripturus* the participle, being future, and sum, 
the auxiliary, present. 

80. Tenses, expressive of one time* are, 1. The definite 
present; 2. The aorist of the past ; 3. The indefinite Ju- 
ture ; 4. T 'he imperfect preterit ; which have all been de- 
scribed under other characters. In this analysis of the 
tenses, I have made their number nine. 1. The definite 
present. 2. The indefinite present. 3. The impel feci. 
4. The aorist of the past. 5. The preterperfec~l. 6. 
The plusquamperfecl- 7. The indefinite future. 8. The 
paulo-post future. 9. The perfect future. All these ten- 
ses are not necessary in language ; but in most of the 
languages we know, the full import of each of them may, 
in one way or other, be expressed. 

81. The moods of verbrv express not only our thoughts, 
but also something of the intention or state of mind with 
which we utter them. If we affirm absolutely, we use the 
indicative or declarative mood ; if relatively, condition- 
al! y t or dependency on something else, it is the subjunc- 
tive. If we declare our meaning in the form of a wish, 
it is railed the optative ; if in the form of a command or 
request, it is the imperative. And if we affirm concern- 
in £ what it ight be done, or ought to be done, it has 
been called the potential. But there is no need of distin- 
guishing" moods so nicely. 

82 They may be all reduced to two, the indicative, 
which affirms absolutely, and the subjunctive, which af- 
firms relatively, or with a dependence on something else. 
For the imperative is only an elliptical way of expres- 
sing the indicative ; go thou t being the same with, / en- 



28 ELEMENTS OF Part 1. 

treaty or I command thee to go ; the potential is always 
either indicative or subjunctive : the Greek optative is a 
form of the subjunctive, and has much the same import : 
and the infinitive is neither a mood, nor a part of the 
verb, because it expresses no affirmation, and has no re- 
ference to any one person or number more than any- 
other. The infinitive expresses abstractly the simple 
meaning of the verb, and does therefore in its nature re- 
semble an indeclinable abstract noun ; and in fact is often 
used as such in most languages ; as Cupio discere, studcre 
deiectat me, reddas duke loqui, reddas rider e decorum* 

83. Verbs are divided into active, passive, and neuter. 
An active verb denotes acting, as, verbero, I beat : a 
passive verb denotes being acted upon, as, verberor, I am 
beaten: a neuter verb denotes neither the one nor the 
other, and only signifies the state or condition of the 
thing or person, concerning which the affirmation is 
made ; as, sedeo, I sit ; sto, I stand ; dormit, he sleeps. 
Active verbs are subdivided into transitive and intransi- 
tive. In the former, the action passes, transit ■, from the 
agent towards some other person or thing ; as, 1 buiki a 
house, I break a stone, I see & man. The latter denote ac- 
tion, which does not pass from the agent towards any- 
thing else, as, I run, I walk. This sort of verb, when 
strictly intransitive, cannot assume a passive form ; for 
where action does not pass from the agent, there is no- 
thing that can be said to be acted upon. Nor do neuter 
verbs take a passive ; because nothing is acted upon 
where there is no action. 

84. When a thing or person acts upon itself, as Cato 
slew himself, the Greeks in very early times are said to 
have made use of the m'tddie verb, or middle voice ; which 
the grammarians endeavour to prove by quoting three or 
four examples from Homer. The Hebrews had a like 
contrivance. But in most of the Greek books now ex- 
tant, the middle voice has a signification purely active. 
The verbs called deponent, desiderative, frequentative, 
inceptive, &c. need not be considered here, being found 
in some languages only, and therefore not essential to 
speech. The impersonal verb is so called, because the 
nominative, expressed or understood, on which it de~- 



ph- I. in. MORAL SCIENCE, 39 

pends, is always a thing, and never aperson. The nature 
of this sort of verb is well enough explained in the com- 
mon grammars. 

85. Of Adverbs. It is the nature of the adverb, as 
the name imports, to give some additional meaning to 
the verb, that is, to ihe attributive (see § 60}— to the ad- 
jective, as valde bonis ; to the participle, a$ graviter vul- 
neratus ; to the verb, as farther pugncvit* Adverbs are 
also joined to adverbs, as, magis forther ; sat cito, si sat 
bene ; a^.d sometimes even to nouns ; but when this is 
the case, the noun will be found to comprehend the 
meaning of the attributive, as admodum puella, which oc- 
curs in Livy, and signifies that the young woman wast- 
ry young. Hence adverbs have been called secondary attri- 
huthe^ or words denoting the attributes of attributes. 

C5. But many of them are not of this character, and 
seem to have been contrived for no other purpose, but in 
order to express, by one indeclinable word, what would 
otherwise have required two or three words, as well as a 
more artful syntax. Thus«£/ signifies in quo -oco; quo, 
in quern locum ; hue, in hunc hcum ; diu, per 'ongum tempus, 
&c. Adverbs, therefore, if not essential to speech, are 
at least very useful, and all languages have them, and 
some in a very great number. Too many of them, how- 
ever, have in writing a bad effect, and make a style harsh 
and unwieldy : and the same thing is true of attributives 
in general. The strength of language lies in its nouns or 
substantives. 

87. Of Participles. The common definition of 
participle is, " A word derived from a verb, and signify. 
" ing a quality, with time." This is indeed true of the 
future participle active, but not of the others: scrifans, 
writing, and scriptus, written, do not of themselves ex- 
press time at all, and may apply to any time, even as an 
adjeclive may do, according to the tense of the verb with 
which they are connected : I was writing yesterday, I am, 
writing to-day, and shall be writing to-morrow ; the letter 
was written, is written, will be written, As to the future 
participle passive (as it is called) of the Latins, it gene- 
rally denotes rather necessity or duty, than future timej 
Dicit liter as a se scribendas esse, he says that a letter must 



40 ELEMENTS OF Parti, 

be written by him ; Dicit . iter as a se scrip turn iri, he says 
that a letter w'11 be written by him. When Cato in the 
senate said, Delenda est Car.hago, he did not utter a pro- 
phecy of what was to be done, but recommended what in 
his opinion ought to be done 

88. Wriu n is a passive participle, and denotes com- 
plete* action ; the letter is written* Writing is an active 
participle, and denotes action continuing; I am writing 
now, I was w iting yesterday, &c If then it be asked, in 
what respect the participle differs from the verb, it may 
be answered, that the participle does not imply affirma- 
tion, which to the verb is essential. If again it be asked* 
what distinguishes the participle from the adjective, the 
answer is this : The adjective denotes a quality simply* 
and is not necessarily derived from a verb ; the parti- 
ciple is always derived from a verb, and denotes a quality 
or attribute, together with some other considerations rela- 
ting to the continuance, completion, and futurity of ac- 
tion or condition. 

89. Of Interjections. These words are found in 
all languages, though perhaps it cannot be said, that 
they are necessary. They are thown in o discourse* 
interjecta, in order to intimate some sudden feeling or 
emotion of the mind ; and any one of them may com- 
prehend the import of an entire sentence: alas, I am 
sorry ; strange, I am surprised ; Jye, I hate it, I dislike 
it. They are well enough described and divided in 
any common grammar ; but a little more minutely 
perhaps than is requisite. Laughter was not speech, h t 
a natural and inarticulate convulsion wiiversaly unde^s^oodf 
and therefore, that mark in writing, which denotes it 
can be no part of speech. And as to interjections of /m- 
precation, I cannot admit that in language they are ei- 
ther necessary or useful. — The Greeks referred interjec- 
tions to the class of adverbs ; but they are of a nature to- 
tally different ; and therefore the Latins did better in ma- 
king them a separate part of speech. — T o express our 
feelings by interjections is often natural; but too many 
of them* either in speech or writing, have a bad effect. 

90. All the sorts of words hitherto considered, have 



Ch. I. in. MORAL SCIENCE. 4 f 

each of them some meaning, even when taken separate. 
But there are other words, as, from, but — a, tht — which, 
taken separately, signify nothing. The two first of 
these are necessary in language ; the other two are ra- 
ther useful than necessary : the former are called con- 
nectives ; the latter, articles or definitives. Connectives 
are of two sorts, prepositions, which connect words, 
and conjunctions, which connect sentences. 

91. Of Prepositions. A preposition is a sort of 
word, which of itself has no signification, but which 
has the power of uniting such words, as the rules of a 
language, or the n iture of things, would not allow to be 
united in any other way. When prepositions are thus 
employed in uniting words, they have signification, like 
cyphers in arithmetic, which, taken separately, mean 
nothing, but, when joined to numbers, have a very im- 
portant meaning. And the same thing is true of con- 
junctions and articles. If I say, he camt town, I join two 
words, which the rules of our language will not permit 
to unite so as to make sense. But if I take a preposi- 
tion, and say, he came to town, or he came from town, I 
speak good sense and good grammar. 

92. Every body has seen a list of prepositions, and 
knows how they are used in syntax. They all express 
some circumstance relating to place, as, at, with, by, from, 
before, behind, beyond, over, under, &c. but in a figurative 
sense most of them are also used to expre e s other rela- 
tions than those of place. Thus we say, he rules over 
the people ; he serves trader such a con mander ; he 
will do nothing beneath his character ; gratitude beyond 
expression, &c. They are sometimes prefixed to a word, 
so as to form a part of it ; in which case they often, but 
not always, give it something of their own signification. 
Thus, to undervalue is to rate a thing under or within 
its value : to overcome is to subdue ; for men must be 
subdued before they allow others to go or come over 
them: but to understand does not mean to stand under , 
but to comprehend mentally; to undergo means, not to go 
under, but to bear, or suffer. — An English preposition 
often changes the meaning of a verb, by being put after 
it. To cast, is to throw ; but to cast up may signify, to 

E f 



42 E L E M E N T S OF Part h 

calculate: to give, is to bestow^ but to give over, to cease 
or abandon : to give up, to resign, to give out, to publish, 
or proclaim, Sec 

93. Some prepositions appear in the beginning of 
words, but never standby themselves, and are therefore 
called inseparable Of these there are five or six in Latin, 
and about twice as many in English, Separable prepo- 
sitions are not a numerous class of words. In Latin there 
are about forty-five ; in Greek eighteen ; and in En- 
glish between thirty and forty. But some prepositions 
have many different meanings. The English of has up- 
wards of twelve ; from has at least twenty ; and for has 
no fewer than thirty. See Johnson's dictionary. 

94. In the modern languages of Europe, prepositions 
prefixed to nouns supply the want of c^w ; of man, to 
man, with man, being the same with hominis* homini, 
homine The English genitive is sometimes distinguish- 
ed by subjoining s to the noun, as man's lif$* hominis 
vita; and some of our pronouns have an oblique case ; 
as /, which has me — thou, which has thee— she, which has 
her, &c With these and a few other exceptions, we 
may affirm that there are no cases in the English tongue ; 
and the same thing is true of some other tongues. 
Hence we infer, that cases, though in Greek and Latin 
very important, and a source of much elegance, are 
not essential to language. 

95. Of Conjunctions. A conjunction unites two or 
more sentences in one, and sometimes marks the depen- 
dence of one sentence upon another. If I say, he is 
good and he is wise, I unite two sentences in one : if I 
say, he is good, because he is wise, I unite two sentences 
as before, and also mark the dependence of the one, as 
a cause, upon the other, as an effect. Conjunctions 
sometimes seem to unite single words ; but, when that is 
the case, each of the words so united, will be found to 
have the import of a sentence. When it is said, Peter 
and John went to the temple, there is the full meaning 
of two sentences ; because there are two affirmations — 
Peter went to the temple, John went to the temple. 

96. Some conjunctions, wh'de they connect sentences, 
do also connect their meanings, making one as it were a 

^continuation of the other ; as, he went, because he was 



Ch. I. in. MORAL SCIENCE. 43 

brdcred . these are called conjunctive. Others termed 
disjunctive, connect sentences, while they seem to dis- 
join their meanings, and set, as it were, one part of a 
sentence in opposition to another: as, Socrates was 
w r ise, but Alcibiades was not. Each sort admits of sub- 
divisions, which are su^iciently explained in the com- 
mon Latin grammars. 

97. Or the Article. When a thing occurs, which 
has no proper name, or whose proper name we know 
not, or do not choose to mention, we, in speaking of it, 
refer it to its species, and call it man, horse, tree, he. or 
to its genus, and call it animal, quadruped, vegetable, &x. 
But the thine: itself i* neither a genus nor a species, 
but an individual. To show, therefore, that it is an in- 

firtnal, we prefix an article, and call it a man, a horse, a 
tree, Sec. If this individual be unknown, or perceived 
now for the first time, or if we choose to speak of it as 
unknown, we prefix what is called the indefinite article, 
and say, here comes a man, I see an ox: and this article 
coincides nearly in signification wi*h the word one. The 
French, and many other nations, have a like contrivance. 
But, in the case now supposed, the Greeks would prefix 
no article: a man comes is in Greek cwv.o eez s7al * If the 
individual be known to us. or if we choose to speak of 
it so as to intimate seme previous acquaintance with it, 
we nrefix the definite article, the as the Greeks did their 
o k r\; the man comes, o ewng z$ytTcii, ' A correspondent 
article is found in French, Italian, Hebrew, and most 
other cultivated languages, the Latin excepted. 

98. That, which is very eminent, is supposed to be 
generally kr.ovvn : which is also the case with those 
things and persons, whether eminent or not, which are 
nearly connected with us, or which we frequently see: 
and therefore to the namts of such things or persons 
we sometimes prefix the same definite article. A king 
is any king; but the king is the person whom we 
acknowledge for our sovereign. They who live in or 
near a town, even though it be a verv small one, speak of 
it when at home Lv the nan e of the town. 

99. Those words only take the article which are 
capable of being; made more definite with it, than they 



44 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

are without it. i, thou, and he, are as definite as they can 
be, and therefore never take the article. Names that 
denote genera and species may be more or less definite, 
and may therefore take the article; a man, the man, an 
animaU the animal. Proper names, too, may take it, 
when they become common appellatives; as, the Casars, 
the ( atos. The proper names of some great natural 
objects, as mountains and rivers, take in Fnglish the 
definite article:; as the Alps^ the Grampians, the Thames, 
But one single mountain, however great, if it have a 
proper name, does not take it ; we say, Etna, Atlas, 
Lebanon, Olympus; not the Etna &c. The Greeks 
sometimes prefix their article to the proper name of a 
man or woman ; in order, perhaps, to mark the gender of 
the name, or to make the expression more emphatical, or 
merely to improve the sound of the sentence. This is 
not u^ual in other languages. But the Italians sometimes 
prefix their definite article to proper names of favonrite 
poets, singers, and fidlers; and, no doubt, think that 
by so doing they give energy to the expression. 

100. So far is the indefinite article from being neces- 
3?rv in lauguage, tha* the Greeks have nothing like it; 
and in English we never prefix it to the plural number. 
By the Greek poets the article is more frequently omitted 
than used ; and it is also frequently omitted in the prose 
of the Attic dialecl. Sometimes we may put the one 
article for the other, without changing the sense: as, 
the proverb says, or a proverb says, that nothing violent 
lasts long. These things seem to show that articles are 
not very necessary. At other times, however, and for 
the most part, the two articles differ widely in significa- 
tion. Thus, instead of, Nathan said unto David, thou art 
the man, if we were to say, thou art a man, we should 
entirely change the meaning of the passage. 

101. In Latin, there is no article; its place, when 
it is necessary, being supplied by a pronoun, as tile and 
ipse. And this seems to be sufficient. The last example, 
translated thus, Dixit Nathan David*, Tu es ille homo, 
or Tu es Vie, is as significant in Latin as in English. 
Sometimes, by prefixing the definite article to a noun, 
we bestow a peculiar signification upon it. In Greek, 



Ch.I. 4. M O R A L SCIE NC E. 45 

xvfy&iros is a man, but o wB-gaTrog is, in the Attic dialect, 
the public executioner. In English, a speaker is any per- 
son who speaks ; but the speaker is he who presides in 
the house of commons. 

102, And now it appears, that in Latin there are nine 
sorts of words, the noun, pronoun, adjective, verb, parti- 
ciple, adverb, interjection preposition, and conjunction. 
In Greek, Hebrew. English, and many other languages, 
there is also an article, and consequently there are ten 
parts of speech. The noun, pronoun, adjective, verb, 
participle, preposition, and conjunction, seem to be es- 
sential to language : the article, interjection, and most 
of the adverbs, are rather useful than necessary. So 
much for the faculty of speech and universal grammar. 



SECT. IV. 



Of perception or external sensation. 

103. A S this subject is connected with natural philo- 
jt\ sophy, I shall make but a few slight remarks 
upon it ; with a view chiefly to some things, that are to 
follow — The souh using the body as its instrument, 
perceives external things, that is. bodies and their quali- 
ties. All animals have this faculty in a greater or less 
degree, and all complete animals in that precise degree 
which is ntcessary to their life and well-being. Corpo- 
real things, when within the spl ere of our perceptive 
powers, and attended toby us, affect our oreans of sense 
in a certain manner, anc ! so are perceived by the soul or 
mind. We know that this is the fact, but cannot explain 
it, or trace the connexion that there is between our minds 
and impressions made on our bodily organs ; being igno- 
rant of the nature of that union which subsists between 
the soul and its body. Our perception of bodies is 
arcompanied with a belief, that they exsit and are what 
they appear to be, and that we perceive the bodies them- 
selves : and this belief »s unavoidable, and amount? to 
absolute certainty. We cannot prove bv argument, that 
bodies exist, or that we ourselves exist ) nor is it neces- 
E2 



46 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

sary that we should : for the thing is self-evident, and 
the constitution of our nature makes it impossible for us 
to entertain any doubt concerning; this matter. 

104. It would be a task equally tedious and unpro- 
fitable, to explain the notions of philosophers, with 
respect to the manner in which the mind has been 
supposed to perceive things external. Aristotle fancied, 
that, by means of our senses, outward things communi- 
cate to the mind their form without their matter ; as 
the seal imparts to the wax the figures carred on it, 
without the substance. These forms of things, in their 
first appearance to the mind, he calls sensible species ; 
which, as retained by the memory, or exhibited in the 
imagination, he terms phantasms. And these phantasrr s, 
when by the operation of the intellect they are refined 
into general ideas, he calls intelligible species. For 
example : I see a man ; this perception is the sensible 
species. I afterwards remember his appearance ; or 
perhaps his appearance occurs to my mind, without my 
remembering, or considering that I had perceived it 
before ; this is a phantasm. Lastly^ my intellect, taking 
away from this phantasm every thing that distinguishes 
it from others, and retaining so much of it only as it 
has in common with a kind or sort, (see $ 19), transforms 
it into an intelligible species, or general idea, which we 
express by the common appellative, man. All this seems 
to implv, that a thought of the mind has something of 
body in it, and consists of parts that may be separated: 
which to me is inconceivable. 

105. Most modern philosophers give an account of 
this matter in words that are indeed different, but seem 
to amount to the same thing. They will not admit that 
the mind can perceive any thing which is not in the 
mind itself, or at least in the same place with it. Now 
the sun, moon, and stars, and the other things exter- 
nal to us, are neither in the mind, nor in the same 
place with it; for if they were, they would be in the 
inside of the human body. External things themselves, 
therefore, our mind, we are told, does not perceive at 
all ; but it perceives iaeas of them, which ideas are 
actually in the same place with the mind ; either in the 
hrain ? or in something which has got the name of 



Ch. I. 4. MORAL SCIENC E. 47 

sensorium, in which the percipient being, called the soul 
or 'i ind, is supposed to have its residence- See § 13, 

106. When it was objected, that, on the supposition 
of our perceiving, not outward things themselves, 
but only ideas of them, we cannot be certain that out- 
ward things exist, the same philosophers, or rather their 
successors in the same school, admitted the objection ; 
and came at last to affirm, that the soul perceives no- 
thing but its own ideas ; and that the sun and moon, 
the sea and the mountains, the men and other animals, 
and, in a word, the whole universe which we see around 
us, has no existence but in the mind that perceives it. 
Never were reason and language more abused than by 
this extravagant theory ; which, instead of illustrating 
any thing, involves a plain facl in utter darkness; and, 
by teaching that our senses are fallacious faculties, 
leads, as will appear hereafter, to the final subversion 
of all human knowledge. — The doclrine already laid 
down must therefore remain as it is. We perceive out- 
ward things themselves, and believe that they exist, 
and are what they appear to be. This is the language 
of common sense, and the belief of all mankind. This 
we must believe, whether we will or not : and this even 
those who deny it, must take it for granted ; otherwise 
they could not know how to ac~\ on any one emergency 
of life. *nd that the mind may perceive things at a 
distance, is as intelligible to us, as thai it can perceive its 
own ideas. 

107. The powers, by which the soul, using the body 
as its instrument, perceives outward things and their 
qualities, are called senses, and commonly reckoned five. 
Tastes or relishes are referred to the sense of tasting, 
and perceived by means of the tongue. Odours are 
referred to smelling, the organ of which is the inner part 
of the nose. Sounds are perceived by the sense of hear- 
ing, the organ whereof is the inner part of the ear. By 
means of the eye we perceive light and colours. All 
other bodily sensations are referred to touch, the organs 
whereof are diffused over the whole body. 

108. Tastes and smells, as perceived by the mind, 
bear no resemblance to the bodies that produce them ; 
nor is there always a likeness between the tastes and 



4* ELEMENTS OF Part L 

smells of similar bodies ; for salt and sugar may be very- 
like in appearance, and yet are very unlike in other 
respecls The nature, therefore, of any particular taste 
or smell is known by experience only. Tastes and smells 
are innumerable ; yet we have but few words to express 
them by, as sour, sweet, dieter acid, musty, &c; and 
some of these words are applied both to tastes and to 
smells : a proof, that these two senses are kindred facul- 
ties, and that the sensations we receive by them are 
somewhat similar ; which also appears from the position 
of the organs, and from this well known fa 61, that 
those persons, who have no smell, have never an acute 
taste. 

109. On applying a body to our tongue and nostrils, 
we discover its taste and smell ; the mind being, in 
consequence of this application, affe6\ed in a certain 
manner, by means of nerves or other ' inute organs. 
Bui what connects these organs with the mind, or why 
one body thus applied should convey to the mind the 
sensation of sw-etness and another that of salt or acid, 
it is impossible for man to explain. These two senses 
are necessary to life, because they direel us in the choice 
of what is fit to be eaten and drank; and the form and 
situation of their organs are the best that can-be for this 
purpose. They are also instruments of pleasure, in a 
low degree indeed, but still in some degree. And they 
enlarge the sphere of our knowledge, by making us 
acquainted with two copious classes of sensible things, 
discoverable by no other faculty. To many ani als 
smell is necessary to lead them to their prey or food ; and 
to man it sometimes gives notice of fire and wild beasts, 
and other dangerous things, which could not otherwise 
have been discovered till it was too late. And it recon- 
mends cleanliness, whereby both health of body and 
delicacy of mind are greatly promoted. 

1 10. The word taste, as the name of an external sense, 
or of a quality of body, has three different significa- 
tions, which must be carefully distinguished. It means, 
first, a quality of body which exists in the body, whether 
perceived or not: thus we speak of the taste of an 
apple. Secondly, it denotes a faculty in the mind, which 
faculty is exerted by means of the tongue, end which 



Ch. I. 4. MORAL SCIENCE. 49 

is always in the mind, whether it be exerted or not; 
for no man imagines, that when he tastes nothing, he 
has lost the power or faculty of tasting. In this sense we 
use the word, when we say, I have lost my smell by a cold, 
and therefore my taste is not so acute as usual. Thirdly, 
it signifies a sensation as perceived by the mind, and 
which exists only in the mind that perceives it, and no 
longer than while it is perceived : is this sense, we 
sometimes use the word, when we speak of a sweet or 
bitter taste* a pleasant or unpleasant taste* an a^r^eable 
or disagreeable taste. The same threefold signification 
belongs to the words, smell, sight* and several others; 
which are used to denote an external thing, the faculty 
which perceives that thing, and the perception itself as 
it affe6\s the mind. 

111. Natural philosophy teaches, that all soundinc* bo- 
dies are tremulous, and convey to the air an Modulatory 
motion, which, if continued till it enter the inner part 
of the ear, raises in the mind a sensation called sound ; 
which bears no resemblance either to body or motion ; 
which is not perceived by any other sense; and wi ich, 
being a simple feeling, cannot be defined or described, 
and is known by experience only. By experience also 
we learn, that all sounds proceed from bodies : and by 
attending to different sounds, as proceeding from bo- 
dies different in kind or differently situated, we are, in 
many rases, enabled to judge, on hearing a sound what 
the sounding body is, and whether it K e near or distant, 
on the right hand or on the left, before or behind us, 
above or under. 

112. Sounds may be variously divided; into soft and 
lour' — acute and grav< — agieeable, disagreeable and 
indifferent. And each of t^ese sorts may be subdi- 
vided into articulate ard inarticulate. Articulate 
Sounds constitute speech, w.hereof we have treated al- 
ready. Inarticulate sounds may he divided into musi- 
cal sound and noise. Of musical sounds and tl eir ef- 
fects upon the mind, I shall spe;,k hereafter \ observing 
onlv at present, that their intervals are determined 
by the natural risings and fallings of the human voice 
in sinking; and that, when we c?M some of them high 
and others low, it seems to be with a view to the high 



50 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

or low situ ion of their correspondent symbols in out 
musical scale*. Indeed most of the epithets, which we 
apply to sound, are in that duplication 1 figMrd&Hci High 
and low, soft\ acute, grave* and deep* in theft origin d 
and proper signification, refer to objects, not of hearing, 
but of tout h. 

113. The ear is the great inlet of knowledge. D tti 
men must always be very ignorant : but a man born blind, 
who hears, m \y learn many languages, and understand 
all sciencest except those that relate to light and co- 
lours ; and evtrn of these he may in some meisure com- 
prehend the theory. Tie importance of this sense 
to our preservation is obvious. A deaf man in the com- 
p3uy of those who hear, and a b'ind man with those 
who see, may live not uncomfortably: but, in ord :r to 
jirh;e of the vahie of a sense, we ought to consider what 
would be the consequence, if all mankind were to be de- 
prived of it, or had never been endowed with it. 

1 14. The eya is the organ of seeing : and its objects 
are light and colours. Bodies become risible by mean& 
of light, of which, in order to vision, Some animals 
aquire more and others less but all require some. The 
threefold signification of the word sight was formerly 
hinted at: it means the thing seen, the faculty of see- 
ing, and the sensation or a6l of seeing. This last we 
may put an end to, by shutting our eyes : but the vi- 
sible object exists, whether we see or not; and the 
faculty of seeing remains in the mmd, when it is not 
exerted. No man imagines, th?t by shutting his eyes, 
he annihilates light, or his power of seeing it ; but 

* Tt has been said, that in forming a grave tone, our 
breath or voice seems to rise from the tower part of the 
throat, and from the upper part in forming an acute tone. 
This is no improbable account of the origin of the terms 
high and low, as applied to musical sound. It may, how- 
ever, be remarked, that the more ancient Greek writers 
considered grave tones as h gh, and acute tones as low* 
See Smith's Harmon ; es % sect. 1. The ancient Latin wri- 
ters probably did the same. May not this have been ow- 
ing to the situation of the strings on some of their musi- 
cal instruments ? 



Ch. I. 4. MORAL SCIENCE. 51 

every man knows, that by shutting his eyes, he puts 
an end to the act of seeing, and renews it again when 
he opens them. When 1 say, my sight is weak, the noun 
denotes the power or faculty of seeing: when I say, I 
see a strange sights the same word denotes the thing 
seen : and when I add, that I have a confused or indis- 
tinct sight of it, the word signifies the sensation or act of 
seeing. What is necessary to distinct vision must have 
been explained to you in optics, and needs not be repeat- 
ed here. 

1 15. Colours inhere not in the coloured body, but in 
the light that falls upon it: and a body presents to our 
eye that colour which predominates in the rays of light 
reflected by it : and different bodies reflect different sorts 
of rays, according to the texture and consistency of their 
minute parts. Now the component parts of bodies, and 
the rays of light, are not in the mind ; and therefore co- 
lours, as well as bodies, are things external : and the 
word colour denote-, always, an external thing, and ne- 
ver a sensation in the mine. 

1 16. The morion of the two eyes is nearly parallel ; 
and yet the muscles, that move the one, are not connect- 
ed with those that move the other. A picture of the vi- 
sible object is formed in the retina of each eye ; and yet 
the mind sees the object not double but single. The 
images in the retina are both inverted ; and yet the ob- 
ject is sgen? not inverted, but erect. — These facts are by 
some writers so explained, as if we, at first, moved our 
eyes in different directions, and saw objects inverted and 
double; and afterwards, by the power of habit, came to 
see things a* we now do, and to move our eves as we now 
move them- But this theory is liable to unanswerable 
objections ; for which my hearers are referred to the lat- 
ter part of Dr. Reid's enquiry into the human mind, on the 
principles of common sense, — The motion of the eyes is pa- 
rallel from the first ; unless where there happens to be 
convulsion or disease. And it is probable, that, when an 
infant can with his eye take in all the parts of a visible ob- 
ject, he sees it, as we do, erect and single. Nor is it 
more strange, that the mind, by means of an inverted and 
double imair p i should see an object erect and single, than 
that it should perceive a visible thing, by the intervention 



52 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

of an image, whereof it is not conscious, which is not 
known to the greater part of mankind, which can only 
be discovered by very nice experiments, and which was 
never heard of till Kepler found it out about the middle 
of the last century. 

1 17. Every part of the body being an instrument of 
touch, we cannot pretend to enumerate the objects and 
organs of this sense. Heat and cold, hardness and 
softness, hunger and thirst, the pain and weariness, and 
the pleasure of rest, and, in a word, all bodily sensations, 
are referred to touch, except those of smell, taste, sound, 
colour, and light. — In modern philosophy, it has been 
made a question, whether distance, magnitude, and 
figure, be perceived by sight, by touch, or by both. The 
question belongs to optics ; and the truth seems to be 
this : distance, magnitude, and figure, are originally 
perceived, not bv sight, but by touch : but we learn to 
judge of them^ from the information of sight, by having 
observed, that certain visible appearances do always 
accomnanv and signify certain distances, magnitudes, 
and figures. 

SECT. V. 

Of consciousness or reflection. 

T> Y this faculty we attend to and perceive what 
•*-* passes in our own minds. It is peculiar to ra- 
tional beings ; for the brutes seem to have nothing of it. 
In exerting it, the mind makes no use of any bodily 
organ, so far as we know. It is true, that the body and 
mind do mutually operate on each other; that certain 
bodily disorders hurt the mind; and that certain energies 
of the mind affect the body. This proves them to be 
intimately connected ; but this does not prove, that 
anv one bodily nart is necessary to consciousness, in the 
same manner as the eye, for example, is necessary to 
seeing. 

119. Of the things perceived by this faculty, the 
chief is the mind itself. Every man is conscious, that 
he his within him a th'nkin*, a^ive principle* called 
a soul or mind. And this belief seems to be universal ; 



Ch. I. f MORAL S C I E N C E. 53 

fo that if a man were to fay, that he was not ccnfcious of 
any fuch thing, the world would fufpect hirn of either falfe- 
hood or infanity. Nay, the general acknowledgement of 
the immortality of the foulj or of its exifting after the dif- 
folution of the bod}', (an opinion which, in one form or 
other, is found in all nations,) proves, that it is natural 
for mankind to confide r the human foul and body as fub- 
fiances fo diftincr, that the former may live, and be hap- 
py or miferable, without the other. 

120. Every man alfo believes, and holds himfelf to bs 
abfolutely certain, that whatever changes his body may 
undergo in this life, his foul always continues one and the 
fame. A temporary fufpenlion of all our faculties may 
happen in deep lleep or in a fwoon : but we are certain, 
when we awake or recover, that we are the fame per- 
fons we were before. In many things, both natural, 
as vegetable and animal bodies — and artificial, as fhips 
and towns— --the fubttance may be changed, and }et 
the thing be fnppofed to continue the fame; becaufe 
called by the fame name— fituated in the fame place 
— applied to the fame purpofe — or having its parts fo uni- 
ted, that, though new fubirance may have been added 
from time to time, or fome of the old taken away, there 
never was any change of the whole fubftance made at 
once. Bat the human foul is always the fame; its fub- 
ftance being incorporeal, as will be fhown hereafter, and 
confequently indivifible. 

1 21. The things perceived by confeioufnefs do as real- 
ly exift, are as important, and may as well ferve for 
the materials of fcience, as external things and bodilv 
qualities. What it is to think, to remember, to ima- 
gine, to be angry or forrowful, to believe or disbe- 
lieve, to approve or difapprove, we know by experience, 
as well as what it is to fee and hear. And truth and 
falfehood, virtue and vice, are as real, as founds and 
colours, and much more ellential to human happinefs. 
Accordingly, in all cultivated languages, there are words 
to exprefs memory, imagination, reaion, confeience, true 
and falfe, juft and unjult, right and wrong, &c. ; which 
is a proor, that in ail nations, not utterly barbarous, fuch 
Vol. i. F 



ELEMENTS OF Part h 

things are attended to, and fpoken of, as matters of im- 
portance. So much for confcioufnefs in general. We 
are now to conflder more particularly the feveraJ faculties 
comprehended in it. Andfirfl of memory. 



SECT. VI. 



Of Memory,* 

1Z.2. HF^HIS is that faculty, by which we acquire ex* 
A perience and knowledge ; and without which 
we mould, at the end of the longeft iife, be as ignorant, 
as at its beginning. Memory prefents to us ideas or 
thoughts of what is paft, accompanied with a perfuafion, 
that they were formerly real and prefent. What we dif- 
tinclly remember to have feen, we as firmly believe to 
have happened* as what is now prefent to our fenfes. 

123. A found flate or* the brain is, no doubr, necef. 
fary to the right exercife of both memory and judg- 
ment. And hence perhaps it is, that fome philofophers 
have held, that all our perceptions and thoughts leave 
upon the brain certain marks or traces, which continue 
there for fome time, and when attended to by the mind,, 
occafion remembrance; but that, when the brain is 
difordered by drunkennefs, or any other difeafe, fo as 
not to receive or retain fuch marks, or fo as to receive 
or retain them imperfectly, there is then no remembrance^ 
or a confuted one. But this is mere conjecture, incapable 
of proof, and indeed abfurd. — For how thoughts of the 
mind, which are furely no corporeal things, mould leave 
upon the brain, which is corporeal, particular ftamps, 
varioully tized and ihaped, according to the nature of the 
thoughts, and how the mind mould take notice of thofe 
itampi, or remember by means of them, is altogether in- 
conceivable. We know, that we do remember : but of 
the immediate caufe of remembrance we know nothing. 






Ch. I. 6. MORAL SCIENCE, $j 

124. When we remember with little or no effort, it 
is called remembrance fimpiy, or memory, and feme- 
times paffive memory : when we endeavour to remem. 
ber what does not immediately and (as it were) of it- 
felf occur, it is called active memory, or recollection, 
A ready recollection of our knowledge, at the moment 
when we haye occafion for it, is a talent of the greateft 
importance. The man poiTeiTed of it is generally of good 
parts, and feldom fails to diftinguifh himfelf, whatever fort 
of bufmefs he may be engaged in. But fome perfons, who 
arc remarkable for what is here called paffive memory, and 
can remember all the words of a long difcourfe on once 
hearing it, are, in other refpects, of no great abilities. 
Brutes have memory ; but of recollection they feem to be 
incapable; for this requires rationality, and the power of 
contemplating and arranging our thoughts. Great memo- 
ry is perhaps neceffary to form great genius, but is not al- 
ways a proof of it. 

12 £. The livelieft remembrance is not fo lively as the 
fenfation that produced it; and ideas of memory, do of- 
ten, but not always, decay more and mow, 23 the or** 
ginal fenfation becomes more and more remote in tune. 
Thofe fenfations, and thofe thoughts, have a chance to 
be long remembered, which are lively at firif ; and thofe 
are likely to be molt lively, which are mod attended 
to, or which are accompanied with pleafure or pain, or 
with wonder, furprife, euriofity, merriment, and other live- 
ly paflions. 

126. The art of memory, therefore, is little more than 
the art of attention. What we vvifh to remember, vie 
(hould attend to fo as to underfiand it perfectly, fixing 
our riew particularly upon its importance or fingi 
nature; that it may raife within us fome of the pafl 
above mentioned : and we mould alfo, beforehand, dif- 
engage our mind from other things, that we may the more 
effectually attend to the new object which we v\ i(h to re. 
member; that being apt to be forgotten, which occurs to 
us whefc we are taken up with other things. The memo- 
ries of children mould be continually exercifcd : but to 
oblige them to get by l\eart what they do not underftand, 



5 S ELEMENTS Q F Part I. 

perverts their faculties, gives them a diflike to learning, 
and confirms them in habits of inattention, and inaccurate 
pronunciation. 

127. A habit of ftrictly attending to that, whatever it 
is, in which we happen to be engaged, and of doing only- 
one thing at one time, is of great importance to intel- 
lectual improvement* It produces clearnefs and readinefs of 
comprehenfion, pre fence of mind, accuracy of knowledge, 
and facility of exprefiion. Attention to our company is a 
principal part of politenefs, and renders their conversation 
and behaviour both amufing and inftructive to us. We 
ought, therefore, to be conftantly on our guard againft 
contracting any of thofe habits of indolence, or a wander- 
ing mind, which, when long perfiited in, form what is 
called an abfent man, 

12S. Our thoughts have for the mod part a connexion ; 
fo that the thought, which is j.uft now in the mind, de- 
pends partly upon that which went before, and partly 
ferves to introduce that which follows. Hence, we 
remember belt thofe things whole parts are methodically 
difpofed, and mutually connected. A regular difcourfc 
inakes a more lafting impreffion upon the hearer, than a 
parcel of detached fcntences, and gives to his rational 
powers a more falutary exercife :.. and this may fnow us 
ihe propriety of conducting our iludies, and all our af- 
fairs, according to a regular plan or method. When this 
is not done, our thoughts and our bufinefs, efpecially if 
in any degree complex, foon run into confufion. 

129* The Greek and Roman orators, who fometimes 
had occafion to deliver very long orations, and all from 
memory, took pains to fix in their minds a feries of ob- 
jects or places naturally connected, fuch as the conti- 
guous houfes in a ftreet, or the contiguous apartments m 
a hou-fe. By long habit, thefe places were fo arrang- 
ed in their memory, that when the firft place occurred to 
them, it introduced the idea of the fecond, and the 
fecond the third, and fo forward ; even as when the 
firl letter of the alphabet, or the beginning of a well- 
known tune, occurs to the mind, it introduces the fub- 
fecruent letters and notes in the proper order. Then 



Ch. I. 6. MORAL SCIENCE. 57 

the orator connected the firft head of his difcourfe with 
the firft of thefe places, the fecond with the fecondj 
Sec. by thinking of both at the fame time. And thuF, 
they were enabled to recollect, without #onfufion, all 
the parts of the longed difcourfe. This was called the 
artificial memory. Cicero and Quintilian both fpeak 
of it, but neither of them fo minutely as to make it per- 
fectly intelligible, at lead to me : nor do I know 
that any modern orator has ever made ufe of it. It 
feems, indeed, to have been a laborious way of improv- 
ing memory ; as Quintilian himielf acknowledges. In 
ailufion to it, we ftiii call the parts of a difcourfe, places 
or topics % 2nd fay, In the firjl place y In the fecond 
place, Sec. 

130. What we perceive by two fenfes at once has a 
good chance to be remembered. Hence to read aloud, 
flo-vvly, and with propriety, when one is accuflomed to it, 
contributes greatly to remembrance. And that which we 
write in a good hand, without contractions, with dark^co- 
lojred ink, exactly pointed and fpelled, in flrait lines, with 
a moderate fpace between them, and properly fubdivided 
into paragraphs, as the fubject may require, is better re- 
membered than what we throw together in confufion. For, 
bv all thefe circumftances, attention is fixed, and the wri- 
ting being better understood, makes a deeper impreflion. 
Thoie things alfo, which are related in two or more re- 
fpects, are more eafiiy remembered, than fuch as are rela- 
ted in one refpect only. Hence, by mod ueople, veife is 
more eafiiy remembered than profe, becaufe the words are 
related in meafure as well as in fenfe ; and rhyme than, 
blank verfe, becaufe the words are related not only in fenfe 
and meafure, but alfo by fimilar founds at the end of the 
lines. And, in general, elegant and harmonious language 
is better remembered, than what is harfh and incorrect. 

13 r. Memories differ greatly both in kind and in de- 
gree. One man remembers beft one fcrt of thing?, and 
another another; which may in part be owing to habits 
contracted, of attending to one fort of things more than to 
another : and this may be affigned as one caufe of the va- 
rieties of genius that are obfervable among mankind. In. 

F 2 



5 8 E LRMENTS OF Part U 

the eaily part of life, memory is commonly ftrong ; for 
then the mind is difengaged, curiofity active, the fpirits 
high, and the agreeable paflions predominant. Infants ea-. 
fily remember, and eafily forget. A child of fix years, go- 
ing into a foreign country, acquires the new language, and 
forgets his own, in a few months. Moil things are eafily 
learned in the firfl part of life, efpecially languages. In 
mature age, curiofity is abated, and the fpirits lefs lively 
than in youth : but men are then more capable of ftricl 
attention, and both the memory and the judgment mud be 
eonfiderably improved by experience and long exercife. in 
old. ge, curiofity is Hill more abated, and (gw things yield 
amufement, or are much attended to ; and therefore me-, 
mory is for the mod part weak, except in regard to tranf* 
actions long fince paft, or peculiarly fuited to the prefent 
difpolkion* 

132. To improve this faculty, we mult, as already ob- 
ferved, cultivate habits of. ftricl attention,, not only when 
we read books or hear difcourfes, but alfo in converfation,, 
2nd in every part of our daily bufinefs. It will alfo be 
prudent to ftudy according to a plan, to difpofe our af- 
fairs methodically, and to ftudy nothing but what may 
be ufeful. To read a great variety of books is not ne- 
^eilary : but thofe we read mould all be good ones ; and, 
we fhall do well to read them flowly and confide lately* of- 
ten recollecting what we have read, and meditating upon 
it : and we mould never leave a good author, till we be 
mailers of both his language and his dcclrine. A lift will be 
given hereafter of fome of thofe books in Greek, Latin 
and English, that deferve to be ftudied in this accurate 
manner^ For, as Bacon well obferves, " fome books are 
*< to be read only in parts ;. others to be read, but not cu- 
" riouily; and fome feiv to be read wholly, with diligence 
" and attention." There is much good feme in the follow- 
ing aphorifrn of the fame great author : " Reading makes a 
u full man—writing an exacl man — and convcrfation a 
" ready man/' 

133. It is hardly credible to what a degree both afiive 
and paiTtve remembrance may be imj r ved by long prac- 
tice.. Tnere are clergymen V- a fern: en. by 



Cbvl. 6: MORAL SCIENCE, 59 

heart in two hours, though their memory, when they 
began to exercife it, was rather weak than ftrong. And 
pleaders, and other orators, who (peak in public and ex* 
tempore, often difcover, in calling inftantly to mind all 
the knowledge neceffary on the pre Tent occafion, and every 
thing of importance that may have been advanced in the 
coarfe of a long debate, fuch powers of retention and of 
recollection, as, to the man who has never been obliged 
to exert himfelf in the fame manner, are altogether af- 
tonifhing. 

134. Frequently to revife our knowledge — to talk about 
it, when we have a convenient opportunity, that is, when 
we are in the company of thofe who may wifh to hear us 
talk about it — to teach it to others — to reduce it to prac- 
tice, as much as poflible — and to fet down in writing not 
on loofe papers, but in books kept for the purpofe, whate- 
ver may occur to us on any fubjeft, would greatly improve 
both our memory and our judgment. To t ran fori be lite- 
rally from books is of little ufe, or rather of none; for it 
employs much time, without improving any one of our fa- 
culties. But to write an abridgment of a good book may 
fometimes be a very profitable exercife. In general, when 
we would preferve the dodrines, fentiments,. or facls, that 
occur in reading, it will be prudent to lay the book alide, 
and put them in writing in our own words. This practice 
will give accuracy to our knowledge, accuflom us to re- 
collection, improve us in the ufe of language, and enable us 
fo thoroughly to comprehend the thoughts of other men, as 
to make them in fome meafure our own. 

l 35< The memory of brutes feems toferve them no fur- 
ther, than is neceffary to the prefervation of them and their 
offspring, and for making them ufeful to man. In fome of 
them it is attended with extraordinary circumftances. 
Bees, for example, can fee but a very little way before 
them, as appears from the extreme convexity of their 
eyes; and yet find their way, from a long excurfion, 
to their refpeclive hones and feldora or never mif- 
take a neighbouring hive for their own. In this they rnuft 
be guided, not only by memory, but alfo by fmell, or ra- 
ther by I 



60 ELEMENTSOF Part L 

tion. Yet, with all the helps that he derives from in- 
ftincl, or from more acute organs of fenfe, the memory of 
the molt fagacious brute is to that of men almoft infinitely 
inferior. Many brutes are quite untraclable ; of fuch the 
memory muft be very limited. Thofe that are docile,, 
foon reach the height of improvement : and the arts and 
habits, which it is in our power to imprefs upon them, are 
but few. Destitute of confcioufnefs, of reafon, of recol- 
lection, of converfation, and of the powers of invention 
and arrangement, the extent of their knowledge muit be 
extremely fmall, and their memory proportionable. Of 
abltradt notions, in regard to truth and falfehood, virtue 
and vice, elegance and deformity, proportions in quantity 
and number, law, government, religion., commerce, and 
other fciences and ans, which are the moft important parts 
of human knowledge, they are utterly ignorant : nor can 
they ever know any thing of what has happened in time 
pad, is likely to happen in the time to come, or is now 
happening at a diftance. 

136. Bat to the power of human memory, and to the 
poflible extent of human knowledge, we can fet no bounds,. 
And what is very remarkable, the more real knowledge we 
acquire, the greater is our defire of knowledge, and the 
greater our capacity of receiving it. In a word, we feem 
to be fufceptible of endlefs improvement : which is a proof 
not only of the immenfe fuperiority of our nature to that 
of other animals, but aifo that our fouls are formed for- 
cndlefe duration. 

SECT. VII. 

Of Imagination* 

3 37' T ^ smem ^ er t0 nave ^ een a li° n 5 I can imagine a 
X griffin or a centaur, though I never faw one ; 
he, who ufeS" thefe words with understanding, kno<ws the 
difference between imagination and memory, though per- 
haps he may not be able to explain ir. When we remem- 
ber, we have a view to real exiitence and paft experience : 
when wt imagine, we contemplate a notion or idea fimply 



Cb. K 7. MORAL SCIE N C E. 61 

as it is in itfelf, or as we conceive it to be, without re- 
ferring it to pad experience, or to real exiftence. Some 
writers limit the word imagination to the mental concep- 
tion of images or things vifible ; and this may perhaps have 
been the original meaning of the word : but the modern 
ufe of language will juftify that more general application of 
the term which is here given. For it would be impro. 
per to fay, that men born blind mud be deftitote of imagi* 
nation : fjch men may furely invent as well as dream \ it 
is well known they can do both : and both invention and 
dreaming are referred to this faculty. Imagination, em- 
ployed in its more trivial exertions, is often called fancy. 
A fub'.ime poet is a man of vaft imagination : a witty aa* 
r is a perfon of lively fancy. 

138. That we may fee more particularly the nature cf 
the faculty in quedion, it is proper to cbferve here, that 

things may be divided into Jimph and comfltx. The 
former do not kern toconfid of parts that can be fe pa rated ; 
and fuch are our fenfations cf heat, cold, hunger, third, 
or of any particular found, or fimple colour. Complex 
things confid of parts, which may be fcparated and con- 
ceived feparateiy : fuch are all bodies. Now all our fim- 
ple ideas, that is, all our notions of fimple objects, are 
derived from experience: a man mud have feen colour, 
and light, and heard found, znd felt the pain of hunger, 
before he can conceive what thofe things are. But com- 
plex ideas, or notions of complex objecls, the mind can 
form for itfelf, by fuppofing a number of fimple or com- 
plex things combined together in one aiTemblage. When 
fuch complex ideas are not derived from memory, we refer 
them to the imagination. No man ever faw a mountain 
of ivory ; but he, who has feen ivory and a mountain, may 
eafily imagine the fubdance of the one extended to the fize 
and fhape of the other — and thus form the idea of an ivory 
mountain. 

139. Memory fuggeds nothing to us but what we have 
really perceived ; {o that a being endowed with memory, 
but deditute of imagination, could never invent any 
thing : as all invention implies novelty, and that certain 
things or thoughts are put together, which were never (o 



62 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

put together before. Now this inventing power is afcribed, 
as obferved already, to the imagination, or fancy, and, 
when regulated by good fenfe, and applied to ufeful pur- 
pofes, is called genius. One may be learned, who is not 
ingenious: in other words, one may have a good memory, 
well ftored with knowledge, and yet have little imagina- 
tion or invention ; as, on the other hand, one may be very 
ingenious with little learning. But genius and learning 
when they meet in one perfon, are mutually and greatly 
affiilant to each other; and, in the poetical art, Horace 
declares that either without the other can do little. 

140. The fucceffion of our thoughts is often regulated 
by memory ; as when we go over in our mind the particu- 
lars of a place we have feen, of a converfation we have 
heard, or of a book we have read. At other times, when 
our attention is not fixed on any one thing — a Rate of 
mind called a reverie — we may obferve, that our thoughts 
are continually changing, fo that in a little time our ima- 
gination wanders to fomething very different from that 
which we were thinking of juft before. Yet if we could 
remember every thing that pafled through our mind during 
this reverie, we mould probably find, that there was fome 
relation, connexion, or bond of union between thofe 
thoughts that accompanied, or came next after, one another. 
The relations, or bonds of union, which thus determine 
the mind to affociate ideas, are various. 

141. Firft, refemblance is an affociating quality : that is, 
when we perceive, or think of any thing, it is natural for 
us, at the fame time, or immediately after, to think of 
fomething that h like it. When we hear a ftory, or fee 
a perfon, we are apt to think of other Jimilar ftories or 
perfons. Our difcourfe we often embellilh with metaphors, 
allegories, and thofe other figures of fpeech, that are 
founded in likenefs. And when any powerful paffion, as 
anger or forrow, takes hold of the mind, the thoughts, that 
occur to us, have generally a refemblance to that paflion, 
and tend to encourage it. 

142. Contrariety , or contra/}, is another affociating prin- 
ciple, efpecially when the mind is in a difagreeable flate. 
Great cold makes us think of heat, and wifh for it, Kun- 



Ch. I. 7. MORAL SCIENCE. 6 3 

ger and third put us in mind of eating and drinking. In 
poetry, and other works oi fancy, we are fometirnes plea, 
fed when we find things of oppcftte natures fuccecding each 
other; when, for example, the hurry of a battle is inter- 
rupted, as in Homer it often is, with a defcriptive fimiii- 
tude, taken from Jlill life, or rural affairs ; or when, in 
the fame fable, perfons appear of oppofite characters, and 
the violent is oppofed to the gentle, the cunning to the 
generous, and the rafh to the prudent. 

143. Thirdly : when we think of any place which we 
are acquainted with, we are apt to think, at the fame time, 
of the neighbouring places and peifons : here the aiTociating 
principle is contiguity or neamefs of Jituation. The light of 
a houfe, in which we have formerly been happy or unhap. 
py, renews the agreeable or difagreeable ideas that were 
formerly realifed there. — Hence in part arifes that partial- 
ity which moft people have for the town, province, or 
country, in which they palled their early years. Hence, 
on entering a church, even when no body is prefent, a 
confiderate mind is apt to ftcl fome of thofe religious im- 
preflions which it has formerly experienced in fuch places; 
and fentiments of a different nature arife, when we go in- 
to play-houfes, ball-rooms, or apartments that we have 
feen appropriated to purpofes of feftivity. 

144. Fourthly: things related, as caufe and effeel, do 
naturally fuggeft each other to the mind. When we fee 
a wound, we think of the w r eapon or the accident that 
caufed it, and the pain which is the effecl of it. The 
idea of fnow or of ice brings along with it that of cold; 
and we can hardly think of the fun without thinking of 
light and heat at the fame time. The afTociations found- 
ed on this principle are equally ftrong, whether the caufa- 
tion be real or imaginary. He who believes, that dark- 
nefs and folitude are the caufe of the appearance ofghofts, 
will find, when he is in the dark and alone, that the idea 
of fuch beings will occur to him as naturally, as if the 
one were really the caufe of the other. It is true, that 
iblitude and darknefs may reafonably produce fome degree 
of fear; becaufe where we cannot fee, we mutt be in fome 
danger ; and, when every thing is filem about us, we mu£ 



64. ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

be at fome diftance from the protection and other comforts 
of foeiety. But ghofts and apparitions have nothing more 
to do with darknefs than with light : and the ftories told 
of them will be found, on examination, to arife, either 
from imperfect fenfations, owing to the darknefs, or from 
thofe horrors which diforder the imagination, when one is 
very much afraid, or from the folly, credulity or falfehood 
of thofe who circulate thofe filly tales. 

145. Cuftom or habit is a very extenfive principle of 
affociation. Things and thoughts, that have no other 
bond of union, may, by appearing together, or being fre- 
quently joined together, become fo clofely related, that the 
oae fhall ever after introduce the other into the mind. Thus, 
in language written or fpoken, the mind inftantly palTes 
from the word heard, or from the characters feen, to the 
thing figniiied; cuftom having fo afTociated them, that the 
one always reminds us of the other. — -Upon allociations efta- 
blifhed by cuftom, many of the pains and pleafures of life 
depend. An indifferent thing may become very agreeable, 
or very much the contrary, according to the nature of the 
ideas thus connected with it ; and, in like manner, in con- 
fequence of fome perverfe afTociation, that which ought 
to make us ferious, may incline us to laughter. 

146. Things folemn and facred, therefore, fhould never 
be fpoken of in terms of ridicule or levity: and places ap- 
propriated to the offices of religion mould never be made 
the fcene of any thing ludicrous, trifling, or urfuitable. 
Where thefe rules are not attended to, important and friv- 
olous thoughts may be fo jumbled together in the mind, 
as that the former fhall fometimes, very unfeafonably and 
indecently, fuggeft the latter. Let facred things be al- 
ways accompanied with ferious language and folemn cir- 
cumftances: and let thofe who wiih to retain the govern- 
ment of their paffions, and the command of their thoughts, 
be careful to check in the beginning every tendency to 
perverfe and impure affociations. 

147. DreiTes both ugly and inconvenient become 
fafhionable ; and cuftom reconciles us to the fafhion, 
though at firft, perhaps, it might appear ridiculous : 



Ph. 1.7. MORALSCIENCE. 65 

which is also owing to associations founded in custom. 
For when we have long seen a particular for n of 
dress worn by persons whom we love and esteem, and 
on occasions of the greatest festivity or solemnity, it ac- 
quires in our mind a connexion with a great number 
of pleasing ideas ; and whatever is so connected, must 
itself be pleasing. It will appear by and by, that, from 
associations founded in habit, many, or perhaps mosti 
of those pleasing emotions are derived- which accom- 
pany the perception of that which in things visible is 
called beauty. 

148. This subject will often come in our way here- 
after. But before we leave it now, it may be proper to 
remark, that some people contract strange habits of 
what may be termed external association, of joining- 
together two actions chat have no natural connexion, and 
appear very awkward when they are so joined You 
may have seen a boy button and unbutton his coat all the 
while he is repeating his catechism : and we have heurd 
of a lawyer who could not go on with his pleading, 
unless he was continually winding a piece of packthread 
about his finger. It should be our care to guard against 
these and the like absurd habits, and to be very thankful 
to those who caution us against them ; for the eyes of 
a friend are, in a matter of this kind, much more to be de- 
pended on than our own. 

149. It has been already observed, that the talent 
of invention, applied to useful purposes, is called ge- 
n us : but it requires experience and good sense to en- 
able one so to apply it. Every person is not a man of ge- 
nius, nor is it necessary that he should. For in human 
society as in an army, tho' there must be a few to con- 
trive and command, far the greater number have nothing 
to do but to obey : and the efforts of the multitude are 
necessary to public good, as well as the contrivance of 
those who direel them. Besides, if every man were a 
man of genius, there would be so much ambition in the 
world, and so many projectors, and such a multiplicity 
of opposite interests, as would confound the order of hu- 
man affairs. To the perfection of genius, learning and 
application arc necessary, as well as natural talents. It 

G 



66 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

is true, that some men of great genius have had little 
learning ; but this was their misfortune : and it ca» 
hardly be doubted* that with a better education the)r 
would have made a better figure. Without industry 
and attention, genius is good for nothing. 

150. Many are the degrees, and the varieties, of hu- 
man genius. One man has a genius in mechanics ; 
another, in architecture ; a third, in the conduct of mi- 
litary affairs ; or in painting, geometry, music, poetry, 
eloquence* &c. ; and one man may make great progress 
and contrive many improvements in one art, who could 
not have been so successful in another. And some men 
there are, of talents so universal, as to discover genius in 
every thing to which they apply themselves. It is not 
easy, nor perhaps possible, to account for these peculiar- 
ities and varieties of intellectual characler. They may 
be partly owing to habits contracted in early years; 
and partly, and perhaps chiefly, to that particular con- 
stitution of mind, by which, as well as by his face and 
other bodily peculiarities, one man is distinguished from 
another. 

151. But though we may be at a loss to explain the 
efficient cause of this variety, it is easy to see its final 
cause, that is, the intention of providence in appoint- 
ing it. It is this that makes men take to different pur- 
suits and employments ; which renders them mutual- 
ly useful to one another, and prevents too violent op- 
positions of interest. And hence mankind enjoy a 
variety of conveniences ; arts and sciences are invent- 
ed and improved ; and many sources are opened, of 
commerce and friendly intercourse, whereby the circu- 
lation of truth is promoted, and the bounds of socia! 
virtue enlarged. 

152. When one takes a view of the arts that flou- 
rish in society, one is apt to wonder at two things ; first, 
their vast number and mutual subserviency ; and second- 
ly, that men should be found, who voluntarily make 
choice of one or other of all the employments necessary 
in civilized life. This consideration affords a proof of 
the extreme pliableness of the human mind, as well as of 
the goodness of Providence. For, though some profes- 



Ch. I. 7. MORAL SCIENCE; 67 

sions and trades are of low esteem, we find, that in every 
condition, honest industry, with contentment, may be 
happy Let us therefore learn to set a proper value on 
all the useful arts of life, and on all those who praaise 
them with integrity and industry, 

153. The imagination is subjea to certain disorders, 
which may be comprehended under the opposite ex- 
tremes of levity and melancholy. Levity produces 
thoughtlessness, vanity, and contempt of others. What- 
ever, therefore, tends to make men considerate and hum- 
ble, may be proposed as a remedy for this disease, or 
rather as a means of preventing it. Habits of consider- 
ation may be acquired by studying history, geometry, 
and those parts of philosophy which lead to the observa- 
tions of life and manners. Persons in danger from this 
disease, should be kept at a distance from flattery and 
novels, and taught, that honesty and attention to business 
are in every station respectable, and that contempt and ^ 
misery never fail to attend a life of idleness or fantastic ^v 
ambition. The company of those who are wiser and 
better than they, will also be of great and peculiar bene- 
fit to persons of this character: and some experience of 
adversity may be very serviceable in promoting that 
knowledge of one's self, and that fellow-feeling for others, 
which repress vanity, by producing consideration and a. 
lowly mind. 

154. The practice of turning every thing into joke 
and ridicule is a dangerous levity of imagination. Wit 
and humour, when natural, are very useful and very 
pleasing. But that studied and habitual jocularity, 
which I here speak of, and which some people affect, 
makes one a disagreeable and tiresome companion. It 
generally arises from vanity ; it renders conversation 
unprofitable, and too often immoral; and it gradually 
perverts the understanding, both of those who practise it ? 
and of those who take pleasure in hearing it. Our seri- 
ous concerns demand our first attention : wit, humour, 
and merriment may be used in the way of relaxation, 
but are not the business for which we were sent into this 
tvorld. 

15 5. An imagination disordered by melancholy* is one 
af the greatest calamities incident to human nature. In 



68 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

order to prevent it, we ought by all means to avoid 
idleness, and lead an active life ; to be temperate and so- 
cial ; to cherish every cheerful affection, as good na- 
ture, good humour, patience, forgiveness, piety, humi- 
lity, and benevolence, by all which the health of both 
the mind and body is effectually promoted ; and to 
check the gloomy passions of anger, revenge, pride, 
suspicion, jealousy, misanthropy, excessive anxiety, 
and immoderate sorrow, which are all productive of 
misery and disease, both mental and corporeal. They, 
who are in danger from a melancholy imagination, will 
do well to study nothing but what is amusing and practi- 
cal ; to abstain from tragical narratives, controversy, 
and law-suits, which wear out the spirits to no pur- 
pose ; to use moderation in study, as in every thing 
else ; and to have recourse, every day, more or less, ac- 
cording to circumstances, to bodily exercise, innocent 
amusement, fresh air, and cheerful company. To guard 
against superstition and enthusiasm, by forming right 
notions of God's adorable nature and providence ; and 
to avoid, as one would the pestilence, all books and all 
conversations, that are likely to infuse impious, irreligi- 
ous, or immoral opinions, is the duty, not of those only 
whose minds are oppressed with melancholy, but of all 
mankind without exception. 

sect. vnr. 

Of dreaming. 

156. r TpH AT may be very useful, of which we cannot 
J discover the use ; and dreams, though we 
know little of their nature, may yet be of great import- 
ance in our constitution. Most of the few unconnected 
remarks that follow, are offered as mere conjecture ; for 
it would be vain to attempt to treat this subject in a sci- 
entific manner. Most men dream, but all do not ; and 
sometimes we dream more than at other times. In 
dreams, we mistake ideas of imagination for real things, 
But when awake, and in our perfect mind, we never mis- 
take a realty for a dream. Realities are perceived intu- 
itively. We cannot prove by argument that we are now 



Cli. 1. 8. MORAL SCIENCE. <# 

awake ; for we know of nothing more evident to prove it 
by ; and it is essential to every proof, to be clearer than 
that which is to be proved. But it is impossible for us 
to doubt of our being awake : such is the law of our na; 
ture. And our experience of the delusions of dreaming 
never affects, and is not supposed to affect* the certain- 
ty of human knowledge. 

157. In good health, we often dream of our ordi- 
nary business ; which, however, is considerably disguis- 
ed by imaginary circumstances. Such dreams partake 
of the nature of allegory : they resemble common life f 
and yet they differ from it. This the poets attend to ; 
and, when they have occasion to describe any person'* 
dream, they generally make it contain some shadowy 
representation of what is supposed to be in his mind- 
when awake ; and this we approve of, because we know 
it is natural. Disagreeable dreams accompany certain 
bodily disorders ; and when there is any tendency to 
fever in the human frame, they are very fatiguing and 
tiresome : whence a man of prudence, who is free 
from superstition* may make discoveries concerning his 
health, and learn from his dreams to live more tempe- 
perately than usual, or take more or less exercise, or 
have recourse to other means, in order to avert the im- 
pending evil. 

158. Dreams may sometimes be useful, as fables 
are, for conveying moral instruction. If, for example, 
we dream that we are in violent anger, and strike a blow 
which kills a man, the horror we feel on the occasion 
may dispose us, when awake, to form resolutions against 
violent anger, lest it should, at one time or other, prompt 
us to a like perpetration. In the 1 atler (numb. 117.) 
there is an account of a dream, that conveys a sublime 
and instructive lesson of morality. Dreums are a striking 
instance of the activity of the human soul, and of its pow- 
er of creating, as it were, without the help of the senses* 
ideas that £ive it amusement, and command its whole at- 
tention. Sometimes, however, in sleep, our memory # 
and sometimes our judgment, seem to have forsaken us : 
we believe the wildest absurdities, and forget the most re- 
markable events of our life. It is at least possible, thai' 

G a 



70 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

this temporary suspension of our faculties may make 
the soul acl more vigorously at other times, even as our 
bodily powers derive refresh rnent from rest. 

15 '. Dreams may, in other respects, be friendly 
to our intellectual nature. To think too long, or too 
intensely, on any one subject, is hurtful to health, and 
sometimes even to reason. They may therefore be 
useful in giving variety to our thoughts, and forcing 
the mind to exert itself, for a while, in a new direc- 
tion. And persons who dream most frequently, may 
perhaps, from their constitution, have more need, than 
others have, of this sort of amusement ; which is the 
more probable, because it is found in facl, that those 
people are most apt to dream, who are most addicted to 
intense thinking. In this view, even disagreeable dreams 
are useful : as a life of violent activity, of hardship, and 
even of danger, is recommended, and known to give 
relief, to persons oppressed with melancholy, and other 
mental disorders. 

160. In ancient times the dreams of some men 
were prophetical ; but, as we are not prophets, we 
have no reason to think that ours are of that sort. It 
may happen, indeed, in the revolution of chances, 
that a dream shall resemble a future event. But this is 
rare ; and, when it happens, not more wonderful, than 
that an irregular clock should now and then point 
at the right hour. Nor can it be admitted, that 
dreams are suggested by invisible beings ; as they are 
for the most part mere trifles, and depend so much 
on the state of our mind and bod v. The soul in her- 
self seems to possess vivacity sufficient to account for 
all the odd appearances that occur in sleep. For even 
when we are awake, and in health, very strange thoughts 
will sometimes arise in the mind. And, in certain 
diseases* waking thoughts are often as extravagant as the 
wildest dreams. 

161. Our dreams are exceedingly various; but that 
they should he so, is not at all surprising. A very slight 
impression made on our organs of sense in sleep — a 
sound heard imperfectly — a greater or less degree of 
heat— our breathing in any respect interrupted-, by the. 



Ch. I. 9. MORAL SCIENCE. 71 

state of the stomach and bowels, by an awkward position 
of the head, or by external things arTecling our organs of 
respiration — the temperature of the air in general, or 
that of our bedchamber in particular — these, and tht like 
casualties, as well as the tenor of our thoughts through 
the day, the state of our health, and the passions that 
may happen to predominate in our mind, have all consi- 
derable influence in giving variety to our noclurnal 
imaginations. Uncommon dreams, therefore* should 
give us no concern. In these visionary appearances, 
uniformity would be more wonderful, than the greatest 
variety. Some people, it is true, often find the same 
dream recur upon them. Possibly this mayi>e in part 
owing to habit : they dream the same thing a third or a 
fourth time, because they have talked or thought of it 
more than of other dreams. Hence with respecl to dis- 
agreeable dreams, we may learn a caution ; which is, to 
banish them from our thoughts as soon as possible, and 
never speak of them at all. It is indeed a vulgar obser- 
vation, but there is truth in it, that they who seldom talk 
of dreams, are not often troubled with them. 

SECT. IX. 

Of some secondary sensations, 
F the perceptive powers of man there still re- 



62 o 



main to be considered, conscience, whereby 
v/e distinguish between vice and virtue ; and reason, 
whereby we perceive the difference between truth and 
falsehood. These, to prevent unnecessary repetition, 
we pass by at present, as they will come in our way 
hereafter ; the former in moral philosophy, the latter in 
logic. If I had not wished to avoid troubling my hear- 
ers with too many divisions and sub-divisions in the 
beginning, I would have divided sensation into primary 
and secondary. The former has been spoken of alrea- 
dy- The latter I now enter upon ; and indeed could 
hardly bring it in sooner ; what has been said on the 
subject of imagination being necessary as an introduc- 
tion to it. These secondary faculties of st-nsation have, 
by some writers, been called internal senses, by ethers, 



n ELEMENTS OF Part L 

emotions. The name is of little importance.; the na- 
ture of the thing will soon appear. 

163. We perceive colours and figures by the eye : we 
also perceive that some colours and figures are beautiful^ 
and others not. This power of perceiving beauty, which 
the brutes have not, though they see as well as we> 1 call 
a secondary sense. We perceive sounds by the ear ; we 
also perceive, that certain combinations of sound have 
harmony, and that others are dissonant. This power- 
of perceiving harmony, called in common language a 
musical ear, is another secondary sense, which the 
brutes have not and of which many men, who hear well 
enough, are utterly destitute Of these secondary senses 
there are, no doubt, many in the human constitution. I 
confine myself to those of novelty, sublimity, beauty, imi- 
tation, harmony and ridicule ; which, together with sym- 
pathy which I shall also describe, form what is commonly 
called good taste. The pleasures received by the secondary 
senses are, by Addison, in the sixth volume of the Spec- 
tator, and by Akenside, in the title of a poem which he 
wrote on the subject, termed Pleasures of Imagination. 

164. Of Novelty, Things, in themselves indiffer- 
ent, or even disagreeable, may be agreeable when new : 
and novelty, in general, has a charm in it, of which 
every rational, or every human being at least, is sensi- 
ble. Hence our passions for variety, for amusement, 
for news, for strange sights, and for knowledge in gene- 
ral. The pleasure we take in new things, arises from 
the active nature of man. We are never happy unless 
employed about something : and when we have no- 
thing to do, in the way of business or amusement, the 
mind becomes languid and of course uneasy. Yet into 
this state w r e are apt to fall, when there is nothing tt> 
rouse our attention, or give play to our faculties. For, 
when we have long been conversant about one set of 
objects, the mind comprehends them so easily, that they 
give it no exercise. In this case, a new object occur- 
ring gives an impulse to the mind, and puts it upon exert- 
ing itself- and the exertion, if moderate, is agreeable* 
If the new objeO: occasion surprise, or any other lively 
aind pleasing emotion, its novelty will be still more in- 



Ch. I. 9. MORAL SCIENCE. 73 

teresting ; because it will convey to the mind a more 
sprightly and perhaps a more permanent impulse. 

165. Some things are more disagreeable at first, than 
they come to be afterwards ; which may be owing to one 
or other of these two causes. Either the new objecl may 
have required, in order to its being comprehended, a 
violent and painful exertion of the faculties; as in the 
case of one entering upon anew study, or a new course of 
life: or we may have fixed our first attention on what 
seemed disagreeable in the new object ; not discovering 
its agreeable qualities till we were better acquainted 
with it. Hence let us learn, that a good course of life, 
though somewhat unpleasant at first, ought not on that 
account to be relinquished ; for we may be assured it will 
in time become pleasant, if persisted in. It is remarka- 
ble, that men sometimes contract a most violent liking 
to certain tastes that were at first extremely offensive, 
as those of tobacco and strong liquors. This depends on 
causes in which the mind has little concern. It may be, 
that, by the constant use of such things, the stomach, or 
the palate, and of course the animal spirits, are reduced 
to such a state as to be uneasy in the want of them. The 
part of prudence, therefore, is, to abstain from such things 
altogether — which requires no effort — rather than to ha- 
zard the acquisition of a habit, which it may be almost 
impossible to overcome. Unnatural pleasures of this sort 
it is no evil to be without, but it may be a fatal evil to ac- 
quire a relish for. 

166. In all the arts that minister to rational pleasure, 
variety is studied, that the mind may be refreshed with 
a succession of novelties. The proee-writer where it 
can be done conveniently, varies the length, the sound, 
and the svntax, of contiguous clauses and sentences^ and 
amuses the reader's fancy with metaphors, similitudes, 
and other apposite figures of speech. The poet varies 
the structure of contiguous verses ; and, in framing bis 
fable, is careful to bring in events that are both probable 
and unexp^cVd, and persons who differ from each other 
in chara6V r, appearance, and adventure*. So in the other 
fine arts. In the works of nature there is great uniform- 
ity, and at the same time the most unbounded variety: so 



74 ELEMENTS OF Part L 

that he who studies them is continually delighted with 
new and wonderful discoveries; and yet is never perplex- 
ed by their multiplicity, because order, proportion and 
fitness, prevail through the whole system. 

167. The taste for novelty is an important part of the 
human constitution. It is the source of much amuse- 
ment, and prompts men to labour in the acquisition of 
knowledge. It is, besides, one of our first passions. You 
cannot gratify a child more than by showing him some- 
thing new, or telling him a wonderful story. The same 
novelties are not equally captivating to all. Some seek 
aft r new attainments in science; some wander through 
the world to visit different nations; some explore the 
wonders of inanimate nature, and some the characters of 
men ; some read history ; some study the fine arts; some 
are curious in whatever relate to mechanism; and some 
mind little more than the news of the day: some amuse 
themselves with collecting pictures, prints, manuscripts, 
medals, shells» minerals; and some are fond of old, and 
others of new books. Thus men take to different pursuits 
and employments* and every part of knowledge is culti- 
vated. 

168. Of Sublimity. Things of great magnitude! as 
a large building, a high mountain, a broad river, a wide 
prospect, the ocean, the sky, Sec fill the mind of the be- 
holder with admiration and pleasing astonishment, and* 
with rfespe'ft to this sensation, are called sublime* Great 
height and depth, and great number, too, as an army, a 
navy, a long succession of years, eternity, £cc. are sub- 
lime objects; because they fill our minds with the same 
pleasing astonishment. In contemplating such things, 
we are conscious of sbomethir n expansion or ele- 
vation of our faculties as if w* e exerting our whole 
capacity to comprehend the vastness of the object. 

169. Whatever it be that raises in us this pleasurable 
astonishment, is accounted sublime, whether connected 
with quantity or number, or not. Hence loud sounds, like 
those of thund r; cannon, a full organ, a storm — hence 
those fictions in poetry* that produce an imaginary, and 
not painful terror — -hence any uncommon degree of vir- 
tue, of genius, or even of bodily strengths—and hence^ 



Chap. 1. 9. M ORAL SClENC E. 75 

those affections, which elevate the soul, as fortitude, de- 
votion, and universal benevolence, or which are, in their 
objects, causes or effects, connected with great number 
or great quantity— are all denominated sublime, and fill 
our m'.nds with the same delightful astonishment and ad- 
miration 

170. The Deity — the source of happiness and the stan- 
dard of perfection ; who creates, preserves, pervades, 
and governs all things -whose power is omnipotent — 
whose wisdom is perfect — whose goodness is unbounded 
— whose greatness is incomprehensible; — who was f om 
all eternity, and of whose dominion there can be no end 
— he is undoubtedly, and, beyond ail comparison, the 
most sublime object which it is possible to conceive or to 
contemplate; and of all created sublimity (if 1 may so 
speak) his works exhibit the most perfect and most aston- 
ishing examples. There are, no doubt, sublime opera- 
tions ofhum m art, as ships of war, catheoral-churches, 
palaces, mounds for repelling the sea, &c. But, in respect 
of greatness, these are nothing, when we compare them 
with mountains, volcanoes, the ocean, the expanse of 
heaven, clouds and storms, thunder and lightning, the 
sun and moon, the solar system, the universe. 

171. Poetry, painting, and music, are called fine arts; 
because, though not necessary to life, they are highly 

mental. Architecture is also a fine art; for it im- 
proves building to a degree far beyond what is necessary. 
And by each of these arts the sublime is attainable* That 
is sublime music, which inspires sublime affections, as 
courage and devotion; or which, by its sonorous harmo- 
Hies, overwhelms the mind with a pleasing astonishment. 
Architecture is sublime, when it is large, lofty and 
durable, and at the same time so simple and well pro- 
portioned as that the eye can take in all its greatness at 
once; for a number of little parts and ornaments take 
away from the sublimity of a great building, though they 
may sometimes add to its beauty. Painting is sublime, 
when it exhibits men invested with great qualities, 
such as bodily strength — or actuated by sublime passions, 
as devotion or valour ; or when it succesfully imitates 
great visible objectst artificial or natural; as mountains? 



76 ELEMENTS O F Part I. 

precipices, palaces, storms, cataracls, volcanoes, and the 
like. 

172. Poetry is sublime — first, when it elevates the 
mind, and makes it, as it were, superior to the cares and 
troubles of this world: secondly, when it infuses any sub- 
line affedtion, as devotion, valour, universal benevolence, 
the love of virtue and of our country: thirdly, when it 
affe6ts the mind with an awful and imaginary, but not 
unpleasing horror: fourthly, when it describes the senti- 
ments or actions of those persons whose character is sub- 
lime: and fifthly, when it conveys a lively idea of any 
grand appearance, natural, artificial or imaginary. That 
style is sublime, which makes us readily conceive any 
great object or sentiment in a lively manner, and this is 
often done when the words are very plain and simple. 

173. It is true, that poets and orators, when they des- 
scribe sublime objects, do often elevate their style with 
tropes and figures and high-sounding expressions. And 
this is suitable; to the nature of human speech. For when 
we speak of any thing which we consider as great, it is 
natural for us, even in common discourse, to raisr our 
voice, and pronounce with more than usual solemnity. 
But in the use of bold figures and sonorous language, 
great caution is requisite. For, if they be too frequent, 
or seem to be too much sought after, or if they be not ac- 
companied with a correspondent elevation of thought, 
they become ridiculous, and are called bombast or false 

sublime Even in brutes there may be qualities which 

co omand our admiration and astonishment: whence lions, 
horses, and elephants, are sublime objects; not so much 
because their bodies are large, though this may have 
some effie6fc as on account of their uncommon strength, 
sag city or contempt of danger. 

174. Though real greatness always raises admiration, 
littleness does not always excite the contrary passion of 
contempt. That which is little may be beautiful or 
useful, or ingeniously contrived, and so give pleasure 
in various ways, and sometimes raise admiration too; 
— for who does not admire the beauty of a rose, and 
the wonderful instincts of the bee! Littleness is then 



Chap. 1.9. MORALSCIENCE. 77 

offensive, and is called meanness, when we are disap* 
pointed by it, and meet with it in a place, where we had 
reason to expect something better. — There is a mean- 
ness in certain words and phrases, which for that reason 
ought to be avoided on every solemn occasion, and in all 
elegant writing. Important senti ent^, expresses in 
mean words, raise indignation or laughter. Think what 
effect a sermon would have, if it were mixed with vulgar 
proverbs, or broad words. Now those are mean words, 
which are not used except by illiterate or by affected per- 
sons, or on very familiar occasions. Common proverbs, 
customary forms of compliment, ungrammatical expres- 
sions, cant phrases, and provincial barbarisms, have all 
more or less of this meanness ; and, however they may- 
pass on common occasions, or when people mean to talk 
ludicrously, will always give great offence in composi- 
tions that aim at sublimity or elegance. But of this 
more hereafter. 

175. The contemplation of the divine nature, and of 
the works of creation and providence, will, no doubt, 
constitute our supreme and final felicity. To prepare 
us for such contemplation, and raise our minds above 
the present world, the Deity has been pleased to endow 
us with a capacity of receiving pleasure, even in this 
life, from the view of what is good or eminently great* 
Our taste for the sublime, cherished into a habit, and di- 
rected to proper objects, may therefore promote our mo- 
ral improvement, by leading us to contemplate the Crea- 
tor in his wonderful works ; by keeping us at a distance 
from vice, which is the vilest of all things ; and by re- 
commending virtue, for its intrinsic dignity and loveli- 
ness. 

176. Of Beauty. This term is applied to many 
sorts of agreeable things : we speak of beautiful lan- 
guage, and of a beautiful song, as well as of a beaut ful 
face. At present I speak of visible beauty chieflv ; 
which may belong, first to colour, secondly to figure^ 
thirdlv to attitude or gesture, and fourthly to motion,— 
In general, it may be observed, that the pleasure we 
take in looking at what is beautiful, a rose for example, 
is very different in kind from the pleasure that attends 

H 



78 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

the contemplation of a sublime object, as a great catar- 
act, or a huge and craggy mountain. The latter sensa- 
tion (if it may be so called) seems to rouse and elevate 
the mind ; the former to compose it : the one is solemn 
and serious ; the other has a mixture of gladness in it, 
which disposes the face of the beholder to a smile. — 
Beauty and greatness may be united in the same object ; 
in which case they mutually adorn each other. The 
rainbow, in its colours and circular form, is extremely 
beautiful, and at the same time very sublime on ac- 
count of its apparent magnitude and elevation. 

177. Colours are beautiful — first, when they convey 
to the mind a lively sensation, as white and red ; second- 
ly, when they cherish the organ of sight, as green ; 
thirdly, when they have that character which we term 
delicacy, and yield a sensation both lively and gentle, as 
pale red, and light blue. But, fourthly, the beauty of a 
colour depends chiefly on the agreeableness of the ideas 
it conveys to the mind ; for the same colour, which in 
one thing is very beautiful, may in another be very ugly. 
The verdure of the fields, for example, is delightful, be- 
cause it leads us to think of fruitfulness, fragrance, and 
many other pleasant things ; but greenness in the human 
face would be horrible, because it would suggest the 
notion of pain, of disease, or of something unnatural. 

178. Colours, that iook as if they were stained or sul- 
lied, or which are so indefinite, that one knows not what 
name to give them, are not often considered as beautiful. 
But those gradations of colour which we see in flowers, 
in the plumage of some birds, in the rainbow, in the e- 
vening and morning sky, and in many other natural ap- 
pearances, are beautiful in the highest degree, when the 
colours so melt away into one another, that, though we 
'Viscern the change* we cannot mark where the one ends 

nd the other begins. The delicacy, wherewith they are 
oiended, so far surpasses the ordinary efforts of human 
skill, that we cannot behold it without admiration. In 
general, every colour is beautiful, that brings along with 
it the agreeable idea of perfection, of health, of conveni- 
ence, of intellectual or moral virtue, or of any other sort 
of excellence* Negroes love their own colour, for the 



Ch. I. 9. MORAL SCIENCE. 79 

same reason that we love ours ; because they always see 
it because all the people they love, have it ; and be- 
cause none are without it, but those who are thought to 
be strangers and enemies. This at least must be the ne- 
gro's way of thinking, as long as he remains in his own 
country, or till he have the singular good fortune to find 
friends among white people. So much for the beauty 
of colour. 

179. Perfection and skill are always agreeable ; and 
whatever suggests them to the mind, must be so too, and, 
if visible, is entitled to be called beautiful. For this rea- 
son it s< ems to be, that figures so well proportioned and 
so complete, as circles, squares, ellipses, hexagons, &c« 
convev to us the notion of beauty. Want of proportion 
in figures is not agreeable, and therefore not beautiful, 
because it makes ws think of inconvenience, unskilful- 
ness, or imperfection. Figures as they appear in furni- 
ture, in architecture, or in any other work of art, are 
more or less beautiful, according as they convey to us f 
more or less, the idea of skill, convenience, and useful- 
ness. In fact, the beauty of things depends very much* 
as Socrates rightly thought, upon their utility ; for if a 
thin? be useless, we cannot like it ; if we do not like it, it 
will give us no pleasure ; and of all beauty it is the cha- 
racter, to be pleasing. Were the horse as slow as the 
sn*il, we should be more inclined to dislike his unwieldy 
size, than to admire his fine shape. 

180. That form of the human body is accounted beau- 
tiful, which conveys the idea of bodily perfection. Now 
the human body is in its most perfect state in youth ; and 
therefore, in respect of shape* a youthful body is more 
elegant than that of an infant or old man. Another rea- 
son may be given for this, as follows. In all beautiful 
animals, and in all the most beautiful parts of animals, 
the figure is bounded rather by curves, than by straight 
lines ; except where these last may be necessary, as in 
the legs of animals* to strength and convenience. If the 
back and the breast of a fine horse were bounded by rierht 
lines, instead of that flowing curve which winds so grace- 
fully about them, every one must be sensible, that the 
beauty of the shape would be lost. Now* in the outlines 



Se ELEMENTS OF Part X 

of the body of an infant, the curves are rather too much 
bent, on account of the redundancy of flesh, compared 
with the smaliness of the size ; in the body of an old man, 
they are too little bent, and approach to right lines, on 
account of the decay of moisture ; in youth, they are 
neither too much bent nor too little* but a middle be- 
tween both ; and then the shape of the body is most 
perfect. 

181. In the works of nature, the greatest usefulness is 
often united with perfect beauty of colour and figure : 
and the more we study them, the more beautiful they 
appear ; because we become the more sensible of their 
utility, as well as better acquainted with their fnrm. In 
them too, that which we call beauty is generally smooth, 
or seenls to be so ; and is rather small than great, that 
is, rather below the usual proportion than above it. A 
craggy mountain is a sublime object, and its crags may 
add to its sublimity ; but a beautiful hill is, or appears to 
be smooth. The statue of Minerva may be tall, dignity 
being her character : but a gigantic Venus would be ab- 
surb. So much for beauty of shape or figure. 

182. Those gesturks are graceful, which show the 
body to advantage ; or which are assumed with ease, 
and may continue a considerable time without giving 
pain : or which are suitable to the nature of the person 
or animal, and to the passion or sentiment that is sup- 
posed to be in the person's mind, provided that passion 
or sentiment be such as we approve. And no gesture is 
graceful, which conveys any disagreeable idea of un- 
wieldiness, infirmity, constraint, affectation, or any evil 
passion. 

183. The same remarks may be made on beauty of 
motion. Those motions in general are graceful, which 
are performed with ease ; which imply bodily perfec- 
tion ; and which are naturally expressive of agreeable 
passions or sentiments in the mind of the person who 
moves. The motion of some inanimate things is very 
beautiful ; as that of smoke ascending slowly in the 
sky ■ of unbroken waves in the sea ; and of flags and 
streamers flying in the wind. The first pleases, as an 



Ch. I. 9. JVIORAL SCIENCE. 81 

enblem of tranquillity ; the second, on account of the 
smoothness greatness, and uniformity ; and the last, 
by the glare of colours, by the easy curvature and by 
suggesting agreeable ideas of busy life. The character- 
istics of beauty, according to some authors, are unifor- 
mity, variety, and proportion. How far each of these 
may be necessary to form beauty, and why each of them 
gives pleasure, will perhaps appear from what has been 
said. 

184. That which in the smallest compass exhibits the 
greates; variety of beauty, is' a fine human face. The 
features are of various sizes and forms ; the correspond- 
ing ones exaclly uniform; and each has that shape, size> 
position and proportion, which is most convenient. Here, 
too, is the greatest beauty of colours, which are blended, 
varied, and disposed, with marvellous delicacy. But the 
chief beauty of the countenance arises from its expres- 
sion of sagacity, good nature, cheerfulness modesty, 
and other moral and intellectual virtues. Without such 
expression, no face can be truly beautiful ; and with it, 
none can be really ugly. Human beauty, therefore, at 
least that of the face, is not merely a corporeal quality ; 
but derives its origin and essential characters from the 
soul : and almost any person may in some degree ac- 
quire it, who is at pains to in prove his understanding, to 
repress criminal thoughts, and to cherish good affec- 
tions ; as every one must lose it, whatever features or 
complexion there may be to boast of, who leaves the 

1 uncultivated, or a prey to evil passions, or a slave 

to trifling pursuits. 

185. Of imitation. Man is, of all animals, the most 
prone to imitation, and takes great delight in it. By 
imitating others, we learn to speak and walk, and do 
many other things, long before we could either attend to 
rules, or understand them Many of the sports of chil- 
dren are imitations of the aclions of men : and we find, 
that, in most nations, dramatic performances, which are 
also i itations of what happens in real lif^, are muc h at* 
ten> ed to, and greatly esteemed as an amusement. 

186. We receive pleasure from seeing a good imita- ' 
tion, though the original be indifferent, or perhaps eyejx 

H 2 



82 ELEMENTS OF Part ti 

disagreeable. A common plant we view with indiffer- 
ence ; and a dead man we could not see without pain : 
but a good picture of either would give pleasure; and a 
picture, equally good of a beautiful object, would please 
still more. And this pleasure arises chiefly from our 
admi-ation of the skill displayed in the work : for admi- 
ration is an agreeable emotion ; and it gratifies a sound 
mind to see any thing perfect, or advancing to perfec- 
tion. 

187. Poetry, painting, and music, are called Jine arts, 
for a reason formerly given. They are also called imita- 
tive arts ; because in them the appearances or operations 
of nature are, or are supposed to be, imitated ; in paint- 
ing, by colour ; in poetry, by language ; and in music, by 
sound. The contemplation of nature is delightful to the 
human soul ; and nothing that is unnatural, or contrary 
io nature, can please a well informed mind. And there- 
fore, the fine arts, being all intended to give pleasure) 
must exhibit either what is according to nature, or what 
is similar to it ; either what is real, or what is likely and 
probable. 

188. That pictures are imitations of nature, is obvi- 
ous ; and in them may be imitated almost every thing 
visible, not only animals and inanimate things, but also 
the passions and emotions of the mind ; for these last 
produce visible appearances in the look and gesture, by 
which they are known, and which a painter may deline- 
ate. But as no more than the events of one instant can 
be seen at one instant, and as the whole picture strikes 
the eye at once, the subject of every painting must be one 
event or appearance, or must, at least, be such a combi- 
nation of appearances, as may be supposed to be contigu- 
ous in place, and to be seen at one and the same time. 
The progress, therefore, of action, or of thought, paint- 
ing cannot imitate. However, by exhibiting visible things 
in those attitudes, in which they are never seen except 
when they move, it nay give a very lively idea of certain 
kinds of motion : as of rolling billows, ascending smoke, 
trees waving in the wind, fluttering robes and streamers, 
and animal bodies running, walking, swimming, or fly- 
ing. Thobe thoughts that produce no visible change in 



€h. 1.9. MORAL SCIENCE. 85 

the appearance of the body, cannot be expressed in a pic- 
ture. 

189. Language, the instrument of poetical imitation, 
is applicable to all subjects, and may, with the greatest 
accuracy, imitate and describe human actions, passions, 
and sentiments, in each period of their progress, as 
well as every appearance in the animal or inanimate 
world. It has been doubted, whether poetry be an imi- 
tation, or a representation, of nature. The controversy 
is of little moment, and may perhaps be thus determin- 
ed. If we consider it as an art that exhibits, not what 
is real, but only what is likely or probable, we must 
call poetry imitative ; because there is something in it, 
which is not in nature : for it is essential to an imi- 
tation, to be, in some respe<5l or other, different from the 
original. Ideas, conveyed to the fancy by good poetical 
description, would, if delineated by the painter, and made 
visible by means of colour, be found to resemble natural 
things ; and if such a picture be an imitation, the de- 
scription v/hence it is copied must be so too. Real things 
may indeed be truly describee! in poetical numbers ; but 
this is not common ; nor would this be any thing else 
than history in verse - it being the business of the poet 
(as will be shown hereafter) to represent things not as 
they are, but rather as they might be. This reasoning 
refers chiefly to narrative and descriptive poems. In 
dramatic poetry, the imitation of hu an action is obvi- 
ous and unquestionable. Whether music be imitative, 
will be seen by and by. Architecture is an useful and 
noble art, but cannot be called imitative- Only the pil- 
lars in old cathedral churches are said to have been fram- 
ed in imitation of rows of trees, to which indeed they 
bear a great similitude ; the people who invented this 
mode of building having, it seems, annexed some notion 
of sancYity to that appearance ; probably because men 
haH been accustomed, before the use of temples, to 
perform the rites of their religion under the shade of 
trees in a grove. 

190. So great is the pleasure we receive, from see- 
ing nature well imitated, that the representation of 
human misfortunes upon the stage, or in poems, gives 



84 ELEMENT SOF Part I. 

d light, even while it nfuses the painful passions ot pity 
and sorrow. This is owing, partly to the agitation pro- 
duce*! in t ie mind of the reader or spectator, by the cir- 
cumstances of the story; partly to the art displayed in the 
representation by the player, or by the poet in the nar- 
rative; partly, to our being conscious, that what we read 
or see is not real* but imaginary, distress, (for to those 
children who mistake it for real, it is found to give pain 
instead of amusement 1 ; and partly, and perhaps chiefly, 
to the nature of pity, which, though a painful passon, 
is, in the exercise, accompanied with several gratifica- 
tions; such as, our consciousness of its being praise- 
worthy in itself, ornamental to our nature, useful in so- 
ciety, and amiable in the eyes of our brethren of man- 
kind. 

191. Of Harmony. That the sense of harmony, com. 
monly called a musical ear, is a distinct faculty from the 
sense of hearing, appears from this ; that many men re- 
ceive no pleasure from music who hear very well, and 
that some who are dull of hearing are very fond of 
music: and other facts might be mentioned that prove 
the same thing. Observe, that, in the language of art, 
harmony and melody are distinguished the latter being 
the agreeable effect of a single series of musicial tones; 
and the former, the agreeable effect produced by two or 
more series of musical tones sounded at the same time. 
Observe further, that melody gives pleasure to all who 
have a musical ear, our taste for it being natural, though 
verv capable of improvement; whereas harmony is little 
relished, except by those who have studied it. or have 
been much accustomed to hear it. Yet harmony is in 
some degree pleasing to most people; its essential laws 
being so well founded in nature, that no body who under- 
stands them questions their propriety. 

192. Music consists of sound and motion. The pecu- 
liar motion of any piece of music is called its rhythm 
or number, or, in common language, its time. When a 
tune is accompanied with the drum or with a dance, 
we hear t^e rhythm in the sound of the feet or of the 
drum-sticks. Rhythm belongs also to verse, and even to 
prose: for the pauses and the continuity of pronunck.* 



Ch-I-9. MORAL SCIENCE. 85 

tion, and the interchange of short and long, or of empha- 
tic and non-emphatic, syllables, may be all imitated by 
the drum, or by the hand striking on a board. Do not 
confound rhythm with rhime. Rhythm is a Cre< k word, 
and means what has been just now said. Rhime is a 
modern word, and in English denotes the similar sounds 
that terminate contiguous verses, in certain sorts of 
poetry. 

193. By its sounds music may irritate sounds; and 
by its motion, motions. But irregular motions, or inhar- 
monious sounds, it cannot imitate ; because every thing 
in this art must be regular and harmonious. Its imita- 
tive powers, therefore, are very limited. And music 
may be stri6\ly imitative, and yet intolerably bad ; or 
not at all imitative and yet perfectly good. The imita- 
tion of nature is, therefore, not essential to this art, as it 
is to poetry and painting. Consequently, music pleases, 
not because it imitates nature but for some other rea- 
sons which may be explainer! as follows. 

194. First: some sounds, especially when continued, 
are pleasing in themselves, though they have neither 
meaning nor modulation: such is the murmur of groves, 
winds, and waters. Musical sounds, even when heard 
separate, are all pleasing in themselves, or ought to be so; 
and the more they resemble the tones of a gcod human 
voice, the more pleasing thry are, and the more perfect. 
Secondly: some tones, sounded at the same time, have 
an agreeable* and others a disagreeable e{TV6r : the for- 
mer are called concords, thi latrer discords. AW con- 
cord* are not equally agreeable, nor all discords equally 
harsh ; and the art of harmony lies in blending the harsh- 
er with the sweeter concords, or even with discords, in 
such a manner as most efT* equally to please the ear. 
The artful management of this matter is another source 
of the pleasure we derive from music. 

19 5. Thirdly, in all regular music, variety and propor- 
tion *re united, and have a pleasing effecl upon the mind, 
simi ? ir to that which th< \ have in thines visible: that is, 
tl^y ently exercise the faculties, without bewildering or 
fatiguing them, and they suggest the agreeable ideas of 



86 ELEMENTS OF Part T. 

contrivance and skill. But in what manner variety and 
proportion enter into the composition of music, can be 
explained to those onlyi who know something both of 
the practice and the theory of the art. One artifice, how- 
ever, may be mentioned, which the most unskilful may 
understand. v ome pieces of music are contrived with 
the express purpose of introducing apparent confusion ; 
as fugues, in which different instruments, or voices, take 
up the same air, but not all at the same time, so that 
one is, as it were, the echo of the other; and yet the 
general result is not confusion, which one would expeel, 
but perfrcl harmony: which knives an agreeable surprise* 
and heightens our ado iration of the author's skill, and 
of the dexterity of the performers. 

196. Fourthly: music is agreeable, which infuses into 
the mind, or prepares it for being affecled with agreeable 
passions. Now, as all the rules of the art tend to give plea- 
sure, all the passions it can raise must be of the agree- 
able kind It may dispose the soul to devotion, gladness, 
courage, compassion, or benevolence ; but has no expres- 
sion, for impiety, cowardice, anger, envy, or malice. The 
meaning, however, or expression of music, is not deter- 
minate, unless it be united with poetry, or language so 
that the most perfe6l music is son? in which elegant words 
distinctly pronounced, give significancy to melody, well 
modulated by the voice and enforced by suitable harmo- 
nies. And therefore, music, merely instrumental, is to 
a certain degree imperfe6l ; unless we are led by cus- 
tom, or by some outward circumstance, to assign it a 
definite meaning. 

197. Fifthly : all music is agreeable, which conveys 
agreeable thoughts to the mind of the hearer. We have 
heard it formerly in an agreeable place, perhaps, or per- 
formed by an agreeable person, or accompanied with a- 
greeable words, or some other pleasing circumstance. 
Hence, when we hear it again, we hear it with pleasure; 
because it suggests some pleasing recollection, or some 
ide^ at least of former happiness. From this principle, 
a great deal of the pleasure may be accounted for, which 
we derive from music, especially from that of our own 
country. 



Gil. I. 9. MO RALSC1ENCE. 8r 

198. That the sense of harmony is no unimportant 
part of the human constitution, will appear, when we 
consider, that in all civilised, and many unpolished na- 
tions, music has ever been accounted agreeable as an 
amusement, and useful as a means of inspiring courage, 
dtvotion, gladness, and other good affections. Polybius, 
a grave and wise historian, ascribes the humanity of the 
ancient Arcadians to their knowledge of this art — and 
the barbarity of their neighbours, the Cynethians, to 
their neglecl of it. And as he was a native of Arcadia, 
we can hardly suppose that a man of his penetration 
could be mistaken in a matter of this kind. 

199. Of Laughter, To perceive an object, and to 
laugh at it, are different things; brutes perceive, but 
never laugh. Risibility is one of the distinguishing 
characters of man. Some things excite laughter mixed 
with contempt or disapprobation : as the absurdities of 
a lying traveller, a boastful soldier, or a great miser: 
*uch things are properly termed ridiculous* Other 
things, which provoke laughter merely, without con- 
tempt, or disapprobation, may be called ludicrous Such 
are the tricks of monkies and young cats; and such, 
though in all other respecls totally different, are those 
examples of wit and humour which we laugh at in books 
or persons whom we admire and esteem. Here we are 
to consider ludicrous objects chiefly ; as laughter, and 
not contempt, is the object of the present enquiry. 

200. Laughter may be occasioned by tickling, or in 
children by gladness. But I speak of that laughter, 
which is the outward expression of a certain agreeable 
emotion raised in the mind, by the view, or by the con- 
ception, of something which we call oddity, drollery, 
or by some such name. This feeling may be in the 
mind, when laughter, the outward sign, does not appt ar; 
for one may restrain laughter, when one is much tempt- 
ed to indulge it. In like manner, tears are an outward 
sign of sorrow; but one may be very sorrowful, who does 
not weep. What, then, is this drollery or oddity ? What 
is that quality or character, which all ludicrous or laugh- 
able objects have in common ? 



83 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

201. First: The objec\ of ridicule in comedy is very- 
well defined by Aristotle ; who calls it, some small fault 
or turpitude, not attended with pain, and not destructive. 
For to laugh at distress, or at great faults, is at once un- 
natural and wicked; and therefore a writer of comedy is 
highly blameable, when he introduces misfortunes or 
crimes on the stage, in order to make us laugh at them. 
But Aristotle's definition does not hold true of laughter 
in general, or even of all innocent laughter. For men 
may laug'i innocently at that in which they perceive no 
turpitude. Fine turns of wit and humour may be ludi- 
crous, even when they suggest to the mind nothing which 
it is possible either to despise or disapprove. 

202. Secondly : Mr. Hobbes is' of opinion, and he is 
rashly followed by the author of the forty-seventh paper 
of the Spectator, that laughter is a sudden exultation of 
mind, arising from the conception of pre-eminence in 
ourselves, and of inferiority in that which we compare 
with ourselves as we are at present. This resolves laugh- 
ter into pride. But nothing is more absurd. Proud men 
are more remarkable for gravity than for laughter: and 
laughter is seldom taken for a sign of pride. And men 
laugh at things which they do not compare with them- 
selves at ail; and at the wit and humour of authors* 
whom they believe to be their superiors in every res- 
peel:. 

203. Thirdly; Hutcheson says, that a mixture of dig- 
nity and meanness, and appearing in the same object, or 
suggested to the mind by one and the same appearance, 
is the cause of laughter. And indeed it often is* 
but not always* For such a mixture appears in the 
people, and in the housest of every large town : and 
yet a large town, or a great multitude, is rather a sub- 
lime than a ludicrous object. And laughter may be 
raised by some sorts of wit and humour, in which it 
is impossible to discern any mixture of dignity and 
meanness. And a mimic m \y make us laugh, by imi- 
tating the manner of a person who has no more dig- 
nity than the mimic himself has. These theories* 



Ch. I. 9. MORAL SCIENC E. 89 

therefore, are either falfe, or not fufficientJj comprt. 
henfive. 

204. If a painter, fays Horace, were to join to the 
head of a man the neck of a horfe, feathers of differ- 
ent birds, limbs of different animals, and the tail of a 
hfh, the whole would be ludicrous This, it feems, 
was true in Horace's time, and no doubt is fo (till. Ic 
would -appear, then, that a ludicrous object molt be 
made up of feveral parts ; that the parts whereof ij 
is made up wuft b« in fome degree inconfiftent, un- 
In it able, or incongruous; and that they mult be con- 
fidered as united in one aflemblage, or as acquiring a 
fort of mutual connexion from the peculiar manner 
In which the mind lakes notice of them. And there- 
fore it may be inferred, thai laughter is occafioned 
by an incongruity or unfuii ablenefs of the parts that 
compofe, or feem to compofe, any complex object or 
idea. Incongruous objects may, in feveral ways, be 
united fo as to m ke the union ludicrous. 

2 ;. Firfl : when they happen to be placed together. 
Erafmus, in a dialogue Cched abfurda, endeavours to 
provoke mirth by a conference between two per ions 
wh ) fpe«k alternately, each purfuing a fubje£t of his 
own, without any regard to what is fa id by ihe o- 
ther. It looks like a dialogue betweeh two deaf men : 
and the humour, fuch as it is, if there be any, arifes 
merely from the juxtapofition of fenttnees, which 
have no other relation but that of place. When Pope 
fays of prince kugene, that " he is a great taker of 
" fnufF. as well as of towns," the two things fpnken 
of, which are utterly incongruous, acquire an unex- 
pected relation by being placed together, and made 
equally dependent on the word taker; which of 
courfe becomes a pun, by being ufed at one and the 
fame time in two different fenfes. And it is this mix- 
ture, o c incongruity and feem tag relation, that makes 
•the patf ge ludicrous. 

2-6. Secondly: when thin^, appearing in the re* 
tation ot caufe and efeft, are very incongruous and 
inadequate to each other, they lometimes provoke a 
(mile j as when a man is thrown into a violent paifion 

I 



<;,& ELEME N T S OF Fart. I. 

by a trifllog ccnfe ; as if we were to fee a pcrfon fe- , 
noufly attempt (like the child in Ouarles's emblem*) 
to blow out the fun with a pair of bellows, or four men 
take hoid ot the four corners of a church with an in- 
tention to lifi ir up from the ground. 

207. Thirdly: the unexpected difcovery of rtfem* 
b.lanct between things fuppofed to be unlike, when it 
is clearly expreffed in few words, consumes what is 
commonly called wit; and is a very copious fource of 
pleafaotry. Such, to. give one initance, is that com- 
pari fon in Hndibras, of the dawn of the morning to a 
Loiled lobfter : 

" Like a lobtler boilM, the morn 
" From black to red began to turn.'" 
At firft, there feems to be nu refemblance at all ; bur, 
when we recollect that the lob&er's colour is by boil- 
ing changed from dark to red, we recognife a likenefs 
ro that change of colour in the {ky which happens at 
day-break. 

20B. Fourthly : dignity and mcannejs unexpectedly 
united, or fuppofed to be united in the fame sflem- 
blage, is a frequent caufe of laughter. As when a mean 
fentiment unexpectedly appears in a folemn difcourfe, 
or a ferions fentiment in a trifling one; as when the 
phrsfeof.gy of a folemn p dlage in a well-known au- 
thor is, by a little change of words, made to exprefs, 
\n the way of parody, fomething frivolous or very dip* 
ferenr: as when mean ideas and images are exprefied 
ip pompous language, as in the Dunciad and Splendid 
Shilling ; as when important ideas are debafed by mean 
words or provincial barbarifms, whereof we have had 
foroe examples already. (See \ 174.) But, ohferve, that 
mixtures of this fort, when they ieem to proceed from 
want oftaile, or from any mental depravity, are more 
apt to mo\e indignation than laughter. 

209. In ludicrous writing, two forts of fly 1 e are uf- 
e.d, and both imply a mixture of dignity and mean-* 
I3efs ; namely, the mock-heroic and he burlefque. 
The former ccnfiders liule things as great, 3nd de^ 
feribes them with pomp of language and of harmony. 
The D u n clad, t h e Sp ten did /hilling, t h e B attic ef their og: 
and mice, commonly though erroneoufiy afcribsd to 



Ch. I. 9. MORAL SCIENCE. 91 

Homer, are mafterpieces in this way of writing ; a* ire 
alio the Lui in ot Boileau, and Pope's Rape oj the Lock* 
The burieic] jc author nflumes the character ot' a bu£» 
foon, and confiders great tilings as little, feted little 
things as lefs than the reality ; and affects vulgar lan- 
guage, and, if he write in verfe, a peculiar levity i;i 
the conftruction of his numbers. Hjidibras, and the 
hijlory oj John 3u /, are in the buFlefqoe ilyle, the one 
\trle, the other profe, and both excellent in their kind. 

210. Some works of humour are written in a grate 
fly ie, without either meaniieft or elevation ci lan- 
guage: Many of the humorous papers in the Tatlcr and 
Speftator, and many paflages in Gulliver' i Travels 9 are 
of this fort. The author takes the character of a pish* 
man delivering a iimple and ferious narrative of a mat- 
ter which he feems to think important aud true j a^d 
this, if the fubjeclfc be trifling or the narrative palpably 
fabulous, has tl;e fame pleating efiecl, as when a perfon 
tells a merry itory with an unaifc&ed gravity ofcouate* 
nance. See particularly the journal or the coiirt oi ho- 
noor in the TatUr. 

2\i. Incongruity is not always ludicrous. It cesfrs to 
be fa, when it comes to be culioawary and common ? 
and therefore ludicrous incongruity imsft have in ll 
fomeibing uncommon, or at ieall unexpected. New 
fafiiions of drefs often ieem at their firit appearance 
ridiculous ; bur, when generally adopted, are ridiculous 
no longer. Beiides, the inward emotion that prompts 
to laughter is not vtry powerful ; many othei em 
ons have naturally more ftrengtb, add have therefore 
a natural rigKt to fuppreu it. Consequently ihofe in- 
congruous ail'ociations, thai a.ive rife to pity, difgufi, 
fear, an«er, hatred, or moral difapprubation, are not: 
laughable ; becaufe they call forth paflions of greater 
power, and more importance. In thefe cafes, the weak- 
er emotion gives place to the ftrooger. 

212. And every one is fen fib le that it ought to be fo. 
Were a man to laugh at diftrefs,or at any thina which 
his confeience tells him iscriminai, he would be fevere- 
ly cenfured ; for it would he faid, with refpect to the 
firft, that he ought to pity, and not to laugh; femd, 
with refpeel to the fecend, that fuperior cooiid 



92 E L EM ENTS O F 

tions ought to have reftrained his laughter, for that 
they are fools who laugh at lin And mod people mad 
have obferved, that we are not apt to laugh at that 
which djfgufts us, or niakes us very angry, or feri- 
0«ilv afraid. Had the writers of comedy paid a proper 
regard to thefe things, and never attempted to call 
forth either immoral or unnatural laughter, the comic 
inufe would, in refpect both of utility and of elegance, 
have been more worthy of honour, than I am afraid 
the can be laid to be in any nation. 

213. Laughter, notwithstanding what lord Chefter- 
field has faid againftit, is perfectly confident with ele- 
gant maaners; as might be proved from the practice 
of Came of the mod diftinguifhed characters both of 
thefe and of former times. Good breeding, however, 
I :ys foine reilraints upon it, which may be thus explain- 
r i, Good-breeding is the arr, or rather the habit, of 
pieafin* thofe with whom we converfe. Nov we can- 
not pleafe others, if we cither fliow them what is un- 
pleaiing in our fe Ives, or give them reafoo to think that 
we perceive unplcafing qualities in them. All emo- 
tions, therefore, which may betray our own bad qua- 
lities, or might naturally a rife from the view of bad 
qualities in others,— -and all thofe emotions or pailion* 
in general, which our company may think too violent, 
nnd cannot fympaihife with or partake in, good-breed- 
ing requires that we fupprefs. Laughter that is too 
loud, or too frequent, is an emotion of this kind. And 
therefore, a well bred man will be careful not to laugh 
louder or longer than others ; nor to laugh at all, when 
he has reafon to think, that the jed will not be equally 
reiifhed bv the company. 

2*4. This rule a little extended, may be of great ufe, 
for the regulation of ail thofe emotions that difplay 
themfelves in the outward behaviour. Truth we fhould 
never violate, nor offer any outrage to virtue or decer- 
cy. Bat, within the bounds of innocence, it is both our 
duty and our itnered, to make onrfelves agreeable to 
thofe with whom we aflbciate, efpecially to the wife 
and good. This, however, we (hall not be able to do, 
unlefs we take pains to regulate ail our paflions, p t .1* 
bring them down to that level, on which they will be 



Chi I. ic. M O R A L S C I E N C E. 



93 



agreeable to the mjre intelligent part of mankind. 
The fuppreifion of evil palii ons, even for a ftiort lime, 
weakens their force, and will, at lair, if per lilted in, 
gWe us the victory over them. And hence, in regular 
focietjr, where the rules of good breeding areobferved, 
and where inordinate pailions arc not Puffer ed to appear 
outwardly in t!ic behaviour, we live together ou a mere 
agreeable footing, and in a way more favourable ro vir- 
tuous improvement, than in any of thofe Rates o\ foci- 
eiy in which men are at no pains to conceal or govern 
their pailions. The favage is impetuous, and a (lave to 
iudden and violent paffion ; in the man of breeding we 
expect coolnefs, moderation, and (elf-command, 

2f>. The emotions connected with riObility are a 
fource of much amufement to perfons of every age and 
condition. Wit and humour, vvhen innocenr, as they 
always may and ought to be, enliven converlat ion, and 
endear human creatures to one another; and, when 
Hifcreetly applied, may be of lingular advantage in dif- 
countenancing vice and foil}'. 

S E C T, X. 

0/ Sympathy. 

2 1 6. T^H ERE is in our nature a tendency to pnrti- 
X cipatein the pains and pleafures of others , 
fo that their good is in fume degree our good, 
their evil our evil : the nitural elfect oi which is to 
unite men more clofely to one another, by prompting 
them, even tor their own fake, to relieve diilrefs and 
promote happinefs. This participation of the joys and 
Sorrows of others may be termed fympathy or fellow- 
feeling. Sympathy with diltrefs is called companion 
or pity. Sympathy with the happinefs of another lias 
no particular name ; bur, when exprefled hi words to 
the happy perfon, is termed congratulation. Every good 
man knows, that it is natural for him to rejoice with 
thofe who rejoice, and to ween with thole who weep. 

217. Even for fome inanimate things. we have a fort 
6f tendernefs, v/hi:'o ; by a licentious figure of fpeech, 

I 2 



94 £ L E M E N T S OF Part I. 

might be called fympathy. To lofe a ft a ff which we 
have long walked w'uh. or iVe in ruins a houie where 
we had long lived happily, would give a flight concern, 
though the lofs to us were a trifle, or nothing at all. 
We feel iomething like a pity for the dead bodies of our 
friends, artftng from the confideration of their being 
laid in the {binary grave, a prey to worms and reptiles; 
and yet we are fore, that from that circumftance the 
dead can never fuffer any thing. Towards the brute 
creation, who have a feeling as well as we, though not 
in the fame degree or kind, our fympathy is more ra- 
tional, and indeed ought to be ftrong : s ' A righteous 
man regar.de th the life/' and is not infcnfible to the 
happtnefs, " of his bead." 

21B. But oar fympathy operates mod powerfally to- 
wards our fellow-men ; and, other circumftances being 
equal, is, for the nirft part, more or leis powerful, ac- 
cording as they are more nearly, or more remotely 
connected with us by kindred, by friendfhip, or by 
condition. With a friend, with a relation, or with a 
perfon of our own condition, we are more apt to fyni- 
pathtfe, tlnn with people of different circumftances or 
connexions. If we were to be tried for our Rfe, we 
ihould wifh to have a jury of our eo^iats. He who has 
had the tooth-ach or the godt, is more inclined to pity 
thole who fuffer Trooa the fame diftempers, than that 
per fun is who never felt them. 

219. We fometimes fympathife with another perfon 
in a cafe in which that perfon has little ieeling of either 
good or evil. We biulh at the rudenefs of another man 
in company, even when he hknfelf does not know [hat 
he is rude. We tremble for a mafon ftanding on a high 
fcaffold, though we have reafon to believe he is in no 
danger, becaufe cuftom has made it familiar to him. 
On thefe occasions, our fellow-feeling feems to arife 
not from our opinion of what the other perfon fuffers, 
but from our idea of wli2t we ourfelves fhould fuffer, 
if we were in his fituation, with the fame habits and 
powers of reflection which we have at prefent. 

220 Our fellow-feeling is never thoroughly roufed, 
till we know fomething of the nature and caufe of that 
happiiids cr mifery. which is the occafion of it : for 



Ch. I. ro. MORAL SCIENCE. oy 

till this be known, we cannot Co eafily imagine our- 
felves in the condition of the happy or unhappy per- 
fon. When we meet with one in diftrefs, where the 
caufe is not apparent, we are tineafy indeed, but the 
pain is not To great, or at lead not 16 definite, as ic 
comes to be, when he has anfwered this qu eft ion, what 
is the matter with you ? which is always the firft quef- 
tion we afk on fuch occafions. And then our fympathy 
is in proportion to what we think he ieeU, or perhaps 
to what we may think it realbnable that he mould feel. 
?.2i. Many of our paffions may be communicated or 
flrengihened by fvmpatby. In a cheerful company 
we become cheerful, and melancholy in a fad one. 
The pretence of a multitude employed in devotion, 
tends 10 make us devout ; the timorous have acted va- 
liantly in i lie fociety of the valiant ; and the cowardice 
of a few has (truck a panic into an army. In an hiito- 
rical or fabulous narrative, we fympathifc with our fa- 
vourite petfonnoes in thole emotions of gratitude, joy, 
indignation, or forrow, which we fuppofe would natu- 
rally arife in them from the circumtfcances of their 
fortune P (lions, however, that are unnatural, as en- 
vy, jealoufy, avarice, malice — or unreafonablv violent, 
as rage and revenge, we are not apt to fynepathife 
with ; we rather take part with the perfons who msy 
feem to be in danger from them, becaufe we can more 
eafily fuppofe ourfelves in their condition. 

222. Nor do wc readily fympathife wkh priiRonswhich 
we difnpprove, or have not experienced. It is there- 
fore a matter of prudence in poets, and other writers 
of fiction, to contrive fuch characters and incidents, as 
the greater part of their readers may be fuppofed to 
fympathife with, and be interefted in. And it is their 
duty, to cheriih, by means of fympathy, in thofe whs 
read them, thofe affections only, which icvigoraoe the 
mind, and are favourable to virtue; as patriot) fro, va- 
lour, benevolence, piety, and the conjugal, parental, 
and filial charities. Scenc3 of exquifite dilirel's, too 
long continued, enervate and overwhelm the foul : and 
thofe representations are (till more blameable, and can- 
not be too much blamed, which kindle licentious paf- 
fion, or promote indolence, aiTeftation, or feniitality. 



96 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

Of the multitudes of novels now publifhed, it is afton- 
iftiing and moil provoking, to confidcr, how few are 
not chargeable with one or other of thefe faults, or 
with them all in conjunction. But immoral or extra- 
vagant novels would not be brought to market, nor or' 
courfe written, if from the buyers offcch things there 
were not a d em an I for extravagance and immorality. 

223. Let us cberifh fympathy. By attention and 
exercife it may be improved in every man. Ic prepares 
the mind for receiving the impreffions of virtue ; and 
without it there can be no true poiiienefs. Nothing is 
iy*<5re odious, than that infenlibiliry, which wraps a man 
up in himftlf and his own concerns, and prevents his 
being moved with either the jays or the forrows of 
anather. This inhuman temper, however common, 
feems not to be natural to the foul of man, but to derive 
its origin from evil habits of levity, ielfiflinefs, or 
pride ; and will therefore be eafily avoided by thofe 
who cultivate the oppofite habits of generofity, humi- 
lity, and good-nature. Of ihefe amiable affections, 
the forms of common civility, and the language of po- 
lite converfation, are remarkably expreffive ; a proof, 
that good breeding is founded in virtue and good 
ienfe, and that a kind and honeft heart is the fir ft re- 
quifite to an engaging deportment. 

224. The eflential parts of good breeding are, to 
fpeak little and modeftly of one's felt, candidly of the 
abfent, and affection at eiy to thofe who are prefent ; to 
fhow, by our looks and behaviour, that we refpect our 
company, and thst their happinefs or convenience is 
the chief thing we have in view ; to fyinpathife readily 
and tenderly in their joys and forrows ; not to obtrude 
oarfelves upon the converfation, or feek to draw gene- 
ral notice ; and, in ail ordinary cafes, when we differ 
in opinion from others, to do it with that refpect. for 
them, and that diffidence in ourfelves, which become a 
fallible creature, who wi flies to be better informed. 
Such behaviour cannot be permanent or graceful, 
where it is hypocritical ; and therefore they are great- 
ly miftaken, who think, with lord Chefterfield, than 
good breeding confifts in difguife, or that the malicious 
or the arrogant are at: all fufccptible of that accom- 
plidiment. 






Ch. I. to. M ORAL ST I E N C E. 97 

225. There are men, neither arrogant nor malicious, 
who fometimes. without bad intention, give offence, 
by faying or doin^ that which, if they had entered 
more rtadily into ihe views and ci redundances o\ the 
company, their own good nature would have determi- 
ned rhem to avoid : while others apprehend fo quickly 
the fituation and fentiments of every one prefent, that 
they give no otrence to any, but great fatisfacnon to all. 
Habitual inadvertence, or perhaps a difpofnion to be 
more attentive to one's felf than to one's company, may 
have produced the unpoiitenefs of the former clafs of 
men ; which will probably be found to arife from one's 
not having been aecuitomed, in the early part of life, 
to the fociecy of well-bred people. They, on the other 
hand, who have been much in the world, and hare 
found it necefTary, from the fir ft, to accommodate 
themfelves by obliging deportment, to perfons of vari- 
ous characters, acquire a great facility of conceiving 
what modes of con ver fat ion and behaviour will be mod 
agreeable to thofe with whom they may happen to be 
afTociated. And thus it appears, that the fenfibilities, 
here comprehended under rhe general name of fy m pa- 
th y, may, by education and habit, be greatly improv- 
ed ; or greatly weakened, if not dedroyed, by inat- 
tention and want of practice. 

22"). There is a third clafs of men that one has fome- 
times the misfortune to meet with, who affect what 
they call a bluntnefs of manners, and value themfelves 
on freaking their mind on all occafions, whether people 
take ii well or ill. Now it is right that people mould 
[peak their minds; but rhe mind that is fit to bt fpoken 
(if I may exprefs mjfelf i'o ftrangely) ought to be free 
from pride, oftentation, and ill-nature ; for from theft 
hateful pa (lions the bluntnefs here alluded to may ge- 
nerally be derived. Such people may have a fort of ne- 
gative honeity ; but of delicacy they are dedicate. In 
their company one fweatswith ,he apprehe.fion of their 
committing fome grof« indec >rum; for no body knows 
whar limits an indelicate mind may choofe to prefciibe 
to itfelf From injury punifhable by law they mav ab- 
(liin ; but they e fuch offence at amounts 

not to injury only, but to cruelty. The thief that 



^S ELEMENTS OF Part L 

picks our pocket does net fo much barm in fociety, 
nor occ»fi us lb much pain, as they may be charged 
with, who (h jck the ear of piety with pro fane nefs, or 
tear open the wounds of the bleeding heart by forcing 
upon it fome painful recollection. 

221. Sympathy with «Siftrefs is thought fo efiential 
to human nature, that the want of it has been called 
in hu man ity . W a u r of f y m p a t hy with a n o\ h e r ■ s h a p pi - 
nek is nor ftigmatiled by fo hard a name ; bat it is 
impoffible to elteem the man who takes no delight in 
the good of a tellow creature -, we call him hard* 
hearted, felfifh, unnatural; epithets exprelfive of high 
difapprobaiiou. Habits of reflexion, with lome expe- 
rience of misfortune, do greatly promote the amiable 
fenfibility oS which we now fpeak, Non tgnara malt, 
miferu fuccurrere dsjee, fays Dido in Virgil, lncon- 
liderate men are feltlom tender-hearted : and mere 
want of reflexion leads children into ads of cruelty. 

SECT. XI. 

0/ tajtc. 

228. TH HAT faculty, or thofe faculties, which lit 
JL us for receiving pleafure from what is beau- 
tiful, elegant, or excellent, in the works of nature and 
art, has, in modern times, been called tafle. He who 
derives no plcafure from fuch elegance, excellence, or 
beauty, is faid to be a man ot no iaiie? he, who is gra- 
tified with that which is faulty in works of art, is a man 
cf bad tape; and he who is pleafed, or dilpleafed, 
according to the degree of excellence or faultinefs, is 
a man of good tafle. This way of i'xprefling critical 
fagacity by an allufion to the fenfations received by the 
tongue and palate, though it be now found in melt of 
the languages of Europe, i* of no great antiquity. Pe- 
tronius indeed ufes fafcr in this fente ; from winch, 
as well as from many other circumftances, I fufpett, 
that the trifling book which bears that name, is partly 
modern. 

229. Good tafle implies feveral talents or faculties. 
The firft is a lively imagination. This qualifies a in a a 



:b. I. n. MORAL SCIERC E. 99 

for readily apprehending the meaning of an auihor 
or arriir, tracing out rhe connexion of his thoughts, 
nd forming he fame views of things which he had 
formed Without this talent, it is imp. ffible to form a 
right judgment of an author's work Delicacy of con- 
nexion, and fuch contrivances in a fable or (lory as tend 
to produce furprife, are among the chief beauties of 
poetry: butt he fe a man of dull imagination is apt to 
overlook, or not to underftand. This livelineis offan- 
Q-j mud be corrected and regulated by the knowledge 
of nature, both external and internal, that is, both of 
the viable unKerfe, and of the human mind. For he, 
who is unacquainted wiih nature, can never be a man 
of tafte ; becaufe he cannot know whether the pro- 
ductions of art refemMe nature or not : and, if he know 
not this, he cannot receive from the imitative arts any 
real fatisf action. 

2:0. 1 hefecond thing necefTary to good tafte is, clear 
and d'ftmft apprehehfion of ih'ings . Some men think ac- 
curately on all fubjects : rhe thoughts of other men 
are almoft always indefinite and obfeure. The former 
e?fiiv make you comprehend their meaning: the latter 
can never fpeak intelligibly, except upon familiar to- 
pics. He, who isrmfter of his fbhje&,fays Horace, will 
not be at a lois either for cxpreflion or for method : 
whence we m3y learn, that accurate knowledge is the 
belt, and indeed the only folid, foundation of :rue elo- 
quence. Lord Chefterflelcl leems to think otherwife ; 
but the eloquence he recommends, is like his favourite 
f\ftem of manners, noi tolid but fh wv and fuperficial. 
It is plain, 'bat the) who are acculiomed to think with 
precifion, mull be the only competent judges of what 
they iiudy, becaufe they alone can thoroughly under- 
lie d it. Habits of accuracy and method will gra- 
dually improve the mind in this rejpect ; and indeed 
ttudy i-> go >d for little, when i r is not methodical and 
accurate. 

231. The third thing necefTary to good tafte, is a 
quick perception of, or a capacity of being eafily and 
pleafurably affected with thofe objects that gratify ihe 
lecondary fenfes, particularJy fublimity, beauty, har- 
mony, and itniiation. In this rclpeft, different minds. 



ioo ELEMENTS OF Part !. 

are differently conltitutecl. Many have little or no tafte 
for harmony, either in language or in mufical found. 
Some have great talents in wit and humour, with hard- 
ly any reliih for the fubiime and beautiful : Swift is 
an inltance. Others, like Milton, have an exquifite in- 
vention, in regard to fublimity and beauty of defer i p. 
tion, and harmony of language, with our any talents 
for wit or delicate humour. And fome have excelled 
both in fublimity and in wit ; as Shakefpeare did in a 
high degree, and Pope in a very conliderable degrac. 
Homer too, i c faid bv Ariftotie to have excelled in lu- 
dicrous as well as fubiime compofirion, and to have 
written a comic poem, called Margites, whiih is loft — 
The only way of improving the fecondary fenfes, is by 
ftudying nature and the beft performances in art- — by 
cultivating habits of virtue— and by keeping at a dif- 
tarice irom every thing grofs and indelicate, in books 
and convocation, in manners and in language. 

2 2 The fourth thing neceflary to good talte, it that 
fy nip air) or ketkilbil.lt V above defcribed ; by whk?h, hip- 
poling oorielyes in the condition of o:her men, we 
read ly adopt iheir fentimen ts and feelings, and make 
them, as it were, our own •> and io receive from them 
fome degree of that pain or pieafure which they would 
bring aloog with them, if rhey were really our own. 
Without tiiis moral fenfibility, our minds would not 
be opcii to receive thofe emotions of pity, joy, admira- 
tion, forrow and imaginary terror, which the befi per- 
formances in the note arts, particularly in poetry, are 
intended to raife within us; nor, by confequence, could 
we form a right eiiiinate of the abilities of the author, 
or of the tendency and importance c-f h;s work 

233 I he iaft thing nquifite to form good tafte, is 
\udgrtianp or good fenfi ; which is indeed the principal 
thing, and may, without much impropriety, be faid to 
comprehe d all the rell. Without this, we could not 
compare the imitations of nature with nature itielf, fo 
as to perceive how fa-r they agree or differ ; nor could 
we judge of the probability or events in a fable, or of 
the "trinh of feVitiments ; nor whether the plan of a 
work be according to rule, or otherwife F r in e%evy 
art, csrtain rules are eftablifhed; fome refulticg from 



Ch.I. 11. MORAL SCIENCE. id 

the very nature of the thing, and the end proposed by 
the artist ; and these are essential and indispensable 
rules ; and others that may be called mechanical or or- 
namental, which depend rather upon custom, than upon 
nature, and claim no higher origin, than the practice of 
some great performer, whom it has become the fashion 
to imitate. 

234. The violation of an essential rule discovers want 
of sense in an author, and consequently want of taste ; 
for where good sense is not, taste cannot be. To depart 
from a mechanical rule, may be consistent with the 
soundest judgment, and is sometimes a proof both of 
good taste, and of great genius. Take an example or 
two : — to divide a tragedy or comedy into five acts — and 
rigidly to observe, in dramatic fable, the unities 'as they 
are called) of time and place — are rules, which, though 
many poets have observed, and many critics enjoined 
them, are not essential. But, to make poetical persons 
speak and act suitably to their characters — to adhere, in 
history and philosophy, to truth, and, in poetry, to pro- 
bability — and to give to every work, whether prose or 
verse, a moral tendency, with simplicity of contrivance 
and of style, and unity of design — are essential rules, 
which no writer is at liberty to violate. 

235. All men, and even children, have something of 
taste, as appears from the pleasure they take in songs, 
tales, wit and humour, pictures, and other imitations. 
But education and study are necessary to the improve- 
ment of taste ; and it may be improved by various me- 
thods, some of which have been mentioned already. 
Whatever tends to enlarge, correct, or methodise, our 
knowledge, either of men or of things, is to be consi- 
dered as a means of improving judgment, and conse- 
quently taste. History, and geometry, and those parts of 
philosophy which convey clear ideas, and are attended 
with satisfactory evidence, are peculiarly useful in this 
respect ; to which must be added such an acquaintance 
with life and manners, as fits a man for business and 
conversation. 

236. Taste is further improved, as already hinted, 
by studying nature, and the best performances in art* 

K 



102 ELEMENTS OF Part L 

Among these are to be reckoned the Greek and Latin 
classics ; the most valuable of which are Ho.i er, Zeno- 
phon, Demosthenes, Thucydides, Sophocles, Plutarch's 
lives; Terence, Cesar, Cicero, Sallust, Virgil, Horace, 
and Livy. He, who has read these few authors with due 
attention, may be truly said to be a man of learning, and 
can hardly fail to be a nan of taste. I need not add, that 
bad books, and bad company, not only deprave the taste, 
but also pervert the understanding* and poison the heart; 
and that the practice of reading even good books 
superficially, breeds a habit of inattention alike unfriend- 
ly to intellectual and to moral improvement. It was for- 
merly said, that we should read none but approved au- 
thors, and never leave a good one till we understand e- 
very point of his doctrine and every word of his lan- 
guage. To prepare us for study so rigidly accurate, an 
exa6l and even a minute knowledge of grammar is neces- 
sary : indeed it is not easy to say, to what degree, and 
in how many different ways, both memory and judgment 
may be improved by an intimate acquaintance with 
grammar; which is, therefore, with good reason, made 
the first and fundamental part of literary education. The 
greatest orators, the most elegant scholars, and the most 
accomplished men ofbusinessi that have appeared in the 
world, of whom I need only mention Caesar and Cicero, 
were not only studious of grammar, but most learned 
grammarians: and Horace and Virgil, and most of the 
great authors above mentioned, appear from the wonder- 
ful correctness of their style* to have been the same. 

237. Taste is also improved by reading the best 
books of criticism ; particularly the critical works of 
Horace, Quintilian, Longinus, Dionysius of Halicar- 
nassus, and the poetics and rhetoric of Aristotle. In 
Pope's notes on his translation of Homer — in Dryden's 
pre aces — in Addison's papers on Paradise Lost in the 
fourth and fifth volumes of the Spectator — in Hurd's 
commentary on Horace's art of poetry and epistle to 
Augustus— in Pope's and Johnson's prefaces to Shake- 
speare —and in mrs. Montagu's essay on his writings and 
genius — in Rollin's method of studying and teacliing 
the belies lettres — and in the abbe de Bos's reflexions 



Cfr- T. 11. MORAL SCIENCE. 103 

on poetry and painting ; you will find a great deal of 
good criticism perspicuously and elegantly expressed. — 
My last remark on this subject is, that taste is greatly 
improved by cultivating all the generous, benevolent, and 
pious affVclioi s, and repressing pride, malice, envy, and 
every other selfish and wicked passion. Virtue is the 
perfection of beauty : and the love of virtue might have 
been, and perhaps ought to have been, mentioned as es- 
semial to true taste. 

238. It cannot be denied, that some unskilful writers 
have obtained considerable reputation* and that inele- 
gant modes of writing have frequently been fashiona- 
ble. There have been men who could prefer Pliny to 
Cicero, Lucan to Virgil, Waller to Spenser, and Cow- 
ley and Blackmore to Milton. But from this we must 
not infer, as some have done, that taste is a variable 
thing. Its principles are real and permanent, though 
men mav occasionally be ignorant of them. Very differ- 
ent systems of philosophy have appeared ; yet nature 
and truth are always the same. Fashions in dress and 
furniture are perpetually changing ; and yet, in both, 
that is often allowed to be elegant, which is not fashion- 
able ; which could not be, if there were not, in both cer- 
tain principles of elegance, which derive their charm* 
neither from caprice, nor from custom, but from the 
very nature of the thing. 

239. In the fine arts, the standard of excellence may 
be presumed to be still more permanent. There are now 
extant, statues, carvings, and remains of ancient build- 
ings, which were the admiration of antiquity, and are as 
much admired now as ever. And there are authors, 
Homer and Virgil, for example, whom, for these two 
thousand years, all who understood them, have consi- 
dered as the greatest of poets. When an author, or when 
a work of art has been long in possession of the public 
esteem, and has been admired by the most candid and 
enlightened minds, it must be taker* as a proof of extra- 
ordinary merit : and the dissatisfaction of a few cavil- 
lers may not unreasonably be imputed to ignorance or 
affectation. 

240. To be pleased with novelty and imitation ; to 
prefer good pi&ures to bad, harmony to harshness, and 



104 ELEMENTS OF Part L 

regular shape to distortion -, to be gratified with accurate 
representatk-ns of human manners; to be interested in 
a detail of human adventures, and more or less accord- 
ing to the degree of probability ; to look with delight on 

the sun, moon and stars — the expanse of heaven grand 

and regular buildings — human features expressive of 
health, sagacity, cheerfulness, and good nature co- 
lours, and shapes, and sizes, of plants and animals, that 
betoken perfection and usefulness — the scenery of groves 
and rivers, of mountains and the ocean — the verdure of 
spring, the flowers of summer, and even the pure splen- 
dor of winter snow— is surely natural to every rational 
being, who has leisure to attend to such things, and is 
in any degree enlightened by contemplation. 

541. If this be denied, I would ask, whence it comes, 
that the poetry of all nations, which was certainly in- 
tended to give pleasure to those for whom it was made, 
should abound in descriptions of these and the like ob- 
jects ; and why the fine arts should have been a matter 
of general attention in all civilised countries ? And if 
this is not denied, a standard of taste is acknowledged ; 
and it must be admitted, further, that, whatever tem- 
porary infatuations may take place in the world of 
letters, simplicity and nature, sooner or later, gain the 
ascendant, and prove their rectitude by their perma- 
nency. Opinionum commenta delet dies ; nature judicia 
confirm at. 



CHAP. II. 
Of Man's Active Powers, 



SECT. I. 

Of free agency. 

242. A C T I O N implies motion ; but there may 

L* be motion, as in a clock, where, properly 

speaking, there is no agent. Many motions necessary 

to life are continually going on in the human body — as 



Ch. II. 1. MORAL SCIENCE. 10$ 

those of :he heart, lungs, and arteries: bat these are 
not human a6lions ; because man is not the cause of 
them. For the same reason, breathing, and the motion 
of the eye-lids* are not actions ; because, though we 
may act for a little time in suspending them, for the 
purpose of seeing or hearing more accurately, they 
commonly go on without any care of ours ; and, while 
they do so, we are, in regard to them, not a6live, but 
passive. 

243. In like manner, the casual train of thought, 
which passes through the mind in a reverie tsee § 140.) 
is not action ; but when we interrupt it, in order to 
fix our view upon a particular object, that interruption, 
and the attention consequent upon it, are mental ac- 
tions. Recollection is another, and investigation a third: 
but a remembrance occurring to us, without any exertion 
on our part, is not action : and our minds, in receiving 
it, or becoming conscious of it, are as really passive, as 
the eye is in receiving the images of those visible things 
that pass before it when it is open. Nor is the mere 
perception of truth or falsehood a mental action, any 
more than the mere perception of hardness : the stone, 
which we feel, we must feel while it presses upon us ; 
and the proposition, which our judgment declares to 
be true, we must, while we attend to it and its evi- 
dence, perceive to be true. But to exert our reason in 
endeavouring to find out the truth, or to be wilfully 
inattentive to evidence, are actions of the mind ; the 
one laudable, and becoming our rational nature— the 
other unmanly and immoral. 

244. All action is the work of an agent, that is, of a 
being who acts ; and every being who acts, is the be- 
ginner of that motion which constitutes the action. The 
bullet that kills a man, the explosion that makes it fly, 
the sparkles from the flint which produce the explo- 
sion, and the collision of the flint and steel whereby the 
sparkles are struck out, are none of them agents, all be- 
ing passive, and equally so ; nor is it the finger operat- 
ing upon the trigger that begins the motion ; for that 
rs in like manner a passive instrument : it is tht? mind, 
giving to the finger direction and energy, which is the 
first mover in this business, and therefor* is properly 

& 2 



106 E L E M E N T S OF Part I. 

speaking, the agent. And if we were to be supernatu- 
rally informed, that the mind thus exerted, was made to 
do so by the secret but irresistible impulse of a superior 
being, we should instantly declare that being the agent, 
and the mind as really a passive instrument, as the finger 
or the gun-powder. 

245. To ask therefore, and the question is almost as 
old as philosophy itself, whether man in any of his 
actions be a free agent, seems to be the same thing as to 
ask, whether or not man be capable of action. To every 
action, using the word in its proptr sense, it is essential 
to br free: necessary agency 'unless we take the word in 
a figurative sense, as when we say, the agency of the 
pendulum regulates the clock) is as real a contradic- 
tion in terms as free slave. If every motion in our mind 
and body is necessary, then we never move ourselves : 
and those motions, which are commonly called human 
actions, are not the actions of men, but of something 
else, which, acco»ding to the language of this theory, 
we must term necessity. To be an active being, is to 
have a power of beginning motion ; to a£t, or to be an 
agent,„is to exert that power. Brutes have a power of 
beginning motion ; which, being in them not accompa- 
nied with any sense of right and wrong, has been called 
spontaneity ; to distinguish it from that power which 
rational beings possess, of beginning motion, and which, 
being accompanied with a consciousness of moral good 
and evil, is denominated liberty. 

246. Mental actions were mentioned; and them the 
mind performs without any dependence, that we can 
explain, on any bodily part. Bcdily exertions do also 
take their rise in the mind, which has the power of 
beginning motion in the body, as well as in itself. But 
the human body, like every other piece of matter, pos- 
sesses not in itself the power of beginning motion ; and 
therefore bodily motions, proceeding from the mind» 
are not properly actions o^tho body ; because, in regard 
to them, the body is only the passive instrument of the 
soul.— The power of beginning motion, exerted of 
choice, by a rational and intelligent being, may be cal- 
led volition or will. It is in man the immediate cause 
of action. We will to exert ourselves in recollection or 



Ch. II. i. MORAL SCIENCE, 107 

attention ; and at the same instant the aft of recollect- 
ing or attending is begun: we wid to move our arm, 
or leg, or any particular finger ; and instantly it is 
moved : and we feel, that this energy of mind, which 
we call will) is the cause of the motion. But in what 
way, or by what means, the mind operates upon itself 
so as to produce attention or recollection, or upon the 
muscles that rrove the several parts of our body, so as 
to give n otion to those muscles, we can neither explain 
nor conceive. 

247. Some things we can, and others we cannot do : 
we can walk, but we cannot fly. Those things it is in 
our power to do. which depend upon our will ; and from 
them proceeds whatever may be called moral or immo- 
ral, virtuous or vicious, praiseworthy or blameable, in 
our conduct* For no man is seriously blamed or praised 
for that, in the performance of which he is not consider- 
ed as a free agent ; that is, as one who had it in his pow- 
er either to do or not to do. This, according to the 
sense of the words, agent and action, as already explained, 
is saying nothing more, than that no man is seriously 
blamed or praised, except for actions done by himself, 
and not by another. 

• 248. Our mind and body are put in motion by the 
will : and philosophers have said, that the will is de- 
termined by motives, purposes, intentions, or reasons. 
Granting this to be true, 1 cannot admit, that by such 
motives or purposes the will is necesscri'y determined. 
It is the will itself, or the self- determining power of 
the mind, that gives a motive that weight and influence 
whereby the will is determined : in other words, it 
depends on ourselves, whether we are to act from one 
motive or from another. A man, for example, is tempt- 
ed to steal. His notive to commit the crime is the love 
of money ; his motive to abstain is a regard to duty. If 
he suffer himself to be determined by the former mo- 
tive, he is a thief, and deserves punishment ; if he com- 
ply with the latter, he has done well. Now all the 
world knows and believes, and the laws of ev^ry coun- 
try suppose, that he had it in his power to act accord- 
ing to the impluse of either the one motive or the 
©ther ; that is, that he had it in his power to give to 



108 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

either of them that influence which would determine his 
conduct. 

249. To set this matter in another light. Afittoiv im- 
plies motion ; and where there is not a power to begia 
motion, there cannot be action, there must always be Pest. 
Now, though motion, when begun, may be communicat- 
ed from one body to another, nothing, so far as we knew, 
can begin motion, but mind. If therefore motives or 
purposes have in themselves a power to determine neces- 
sarily the mind to act, they must also in themselves pos- 
sess the power of beginning or communicating motion ; 
that is, they must be either minds or bodies. But a mo- 
tive, such as the love of money, or a sense of duty, is nei- 
ther a mind, nor a body, and therefore cannot begin mo- 
tion, nor consequently be of itself the immediate and ne- 
cessary cause of action. 

250. A motive may, indeed, raise within us a certain 
desire or aversion, or may itself be that desire or aver- 
sion, when raised : but desire and aversion are so far 
from being understood to be actions that in all the 
languages we know, they are called by a name corres- 
ponding to the English word, passions and signifying, 
not acting, but suffering, or being acted upon. We may, 
indeed, act according to the impulse of aversion or de- 
sire; but still it is nve that act ; and it depends upon 
our will, upon our power of self-determination, whe- 
ther we are to act according to that impulse or not. 
A hungry man has a great desire to eat ; but within his 
reach there may be victuals, which, though he knows 
to be good, he may refrain from eating ; though at the 
same time he is conscious it is in his power to eat, not- 
withstanding any motive, a regard to health for exam- 
ple, that may urge him to abstain. Everyman has an 
aversion to pain and death ; but whether a soldier shall 
flee from both, or bravely in his country's cause set 
both at defiance, depends entirely upon himself; as long 
at least as he retains the use of reason, and the power of 
managing his limbs ; that is, as long as he is an account- 
able being. 

251. There are writers, who maintain, that the hu- 
man frame is wholly corporeal, and that there is no 
good reason for distinguishing between the soul and 



I 



Ch.II. 1. MORAL SCIENCE. 109 

the body of man. This doclxine has been called mate- 
rialism. If I could acquiesce in it, I should* perhaps* 
grant* that all human actions are necessary ; becausej 
being produced by one bodily part operating upon ano- 
ther, they must as really be the effects of mechanism, as 
the motions of a clock. But if this be true — and if 
motives, that is, thoughts an J abstract ideas, have the 
power of producing human a6\ion — those motives or 
ideas must have the power of putting that great machine, 
the hu ran body, or part of it at least, in motion, and 
must therefore themselves be either bodies, which is 
inconceivable and impossible, or spirit, which the mate- 
rialist denies to be in human nature. Here is a difficulty 
which it seems impossible to get over, without renoun- 
cing both materialism and necessity ; that is, without 
admitting, that there is in man something which is not 
m ttter, and which has the power of beginning motion 
both in itself and in the human body. 

252. I do not here mean to enter minutely into the 
question concerning liberty and necessity : first, because 
I hav.t explained myself at some length on that subject 
in another place: secondly, because to give evtn a 
summary of all that has been written about it would 
take up too much time; and thirdly, because in these 
moral inquiries I think it my dutv to avoid controversy, 
and unprofitable speculation, ar«d confine myself to 
plain, practical, and useful truth. 1 therefore only add 
a few miscellaneous remarks. The first is. that thr free- 
dom of the human will is a matter of fact and expe- 
rience, whereof the human mind i<? conscious and 
which the language and behaviour of markind in all 
ages prove that they did, and do. and must acknow- 
ledge. In all cases of conduct, in which 1 consider my- 
self as an accountable being. I feel, that I have it in my 
power to do, or not to do, to speak or be silent, to sp^ak 
truth or falsehood, to do my duty or n^glecl it. And 
w^re 1 to speak and a6l as if such things did not seem to 
me to be in my power, the world would charge me with 
affectation or ir.sanitv. 

353. Even those few speculative men, and they are 
but f'w, who in words deny the freedom of the will, do 
yeti in the ordinary affairs of life, speak and a£t like 



HO ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

other people ; making promises, giving advice laying 
down rules and precepts, blaming certain actions as 
what ought not to have been clone, and praises others 
as right and what ought to be done : the propriety of 
which conduct it is not easy to reconcile, in a satisfacto- 
ry manner, to the tenets of those who teach, as the ad- 
vocates for necessity do, that no past action of our lives 
could have been different from what it is, and that no 
future action can be contingent, or such as it is in our 
power to do or not to do. The condition of these theo- 
rists is similar to that of those who argue against the 
existence of matter. Both affirm what contradicts, the 
opinion and experience, not of the vulgar only, b\Xi of the 
most acute philosophers, and of mankind in general : 
both say. they believe thati which is. -inconsistent with 
what co'iimon sense taught them to believe, and with 
what they would still have believed, if they had kept 
to their natural sense of things, and not perplexed them- 
selves with metaphysical arguments : and both assert to 
be true what they cannot reduce to practice, and what is 
not warranted by Christianity* or by the morality and 
politic s of any enlightened nation. 

254. With respect to the christian religion, as con- 
cerned in this matter;— it may be observed, that one 
strenuous fatalist urges the doctrine of necessity, as an 
argument, either in favour of atheism, or against the 
turpitude of vice ; and that another zealous necessarian, 
who avows his belief both in God and in Christ, seems 
to admit, that the testimony of the sacred writers is ra« 
ther againt necessity than for it. Judging* then, either 
from the affirmation of the one, or from the concession 
of the other, we muse infer, that the christian religion 
and the doctrine of necessity are not friendly to each 
other; which is, indeed, what the asserters of 1 b-rty 
have generally maintained. If necessity lead to atheism, 
or if it confound the distinctions of vice and virtue, 
(and I not only agree with Mr. Hume, that it does ei- 
ther the one or the other, but a^p satisfied that it does 
botrO; it is surely subversive of all religion. And if the 
sacred writers seem to declare in favour of liberty, 
(which ! agree* with Dr. Priestley that they- do)— and 
if it is from them, and from them only, that I learn 



Ch. II. i. MORAL SCIENCE. Ill 

what Christianity is — I must either question their infal- 
libility, as teachers, or I must with them declare in fa- 
vour of liberty. But, though the belief of necessity 
would, if I were capable of it, be fatal to my religious and 
moral principles I am far from thinking-, that it must 
have the same effect on every other person : different 
minds may, no doubt, conceive of it differently. Yet it 
is remarkable, that some of its most distinguished advo- 
cates, of whom I shall only mention Spinosa, Hobbes, 
Collins, Hume, and Voltaire, were enemies to our faith ; 
wherea-s of the modern defenders ofliberty, I do not recol- 
lecl one who was not a christian. The opinion of neces- 
sity, says bishop Butler, seems to be the very basis upon 
which infidelity grounds itself. 

255. We are permitted and commanded to pray: we 
consider it as a high privilege, and most reasonable ser- 
vice: we feel that it produces good effects on the mind; 
and our religion promises particular blessings to those 
-who piously perform it. But if every change in our 
minds to the better or to the worse, if all the blessings 
we can receive, and if our praying, or not praying, are 
all things necessary, and the unalterable result of a long 
series of causes, that began to operate before we were 
born, and still continue to operate independently on us, 
why is prayer,or indeed anything else, enjoined asa duty? 
and how are we to blame for neglecling, or how can we 
be rewarded for doing, that which it is not possible for 
us either to do or to neglecl? in like manner, if no past ac- 
tion of our lives could have been different from what it is, 
why do we blame ourselves for any acYion of our past 
life ? we may as reasonably blame oursrlves for not ha- 
ving learned to fly, or for not coming into the world before 
the present century. And yet, if we do not blame any 
part of our past condu6l, we cannot repent of it : and 
if we do not repent, we cannot be saved. Here seems to 
be another strange and striking opposition between the 
doclrine of the New Testament, and that of the fa- 
talist. In short, all the precepts of morality and reli- 
gion, all purposes of reformation, and all those senti- 
ments of regret, self-condemnation, and sorrow, which 
accompany repentance, proceed on a supposition* that 



.11* ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

certain a6tions are so far in our power, that we may 
either do them or not do them. And most of the words 
we make use of, in speaking of the morality of actions, 
are, on the principles of those who deny free agency, 
unintelligible. Such are the words, ought, ought not, 
moral, immoral, merit, demerit, reward, punishment, and 
many others. 

256, By a very zealous asserter of necessity some con- 
cessions have lately been made, which seem to convey 
notions of this doctrine, that are not much in its fa- 
vour. He says, that nothing can be plainer than the 
doctrine of necessity; that it is as certain as that two 
and two are four: and yet he admits* that nine tenths 
of the generality of mankind will always disbelieve it. 
What can this mean, but that nine tenths of mankind 
are irrational ; or that necessity is an incredible thing, 
notwithstanding its being as certain as that two and 
two are four ; or that the teachers of this doctrine are 
unable to explain it? Were it self-evident, I should 
grant, that argument could not make it plainer. But 
tl.at cannot be self-evident, which nine tenths of man- 
kind deny, and which many of the acutest philosophers 
that ever lived, have, to the satisfaction of thousands, 
proved to be absurd. 

257. He admits, that, according to his doctrine of 
necessity, the Deity is the cause of all the eviU as well 
as of all the good, actions of his creatures. What can 
this mean, but either that there is no difference be- 
tween moral good and moral evil, between harm and 
injury, between crimes and calamities ; or that the 
divine character is as far from being in a moral view 
perfect, as that of any of his creatures ? The same wri- 
ter affirms, that the doctrine of philosophical necessity 
is a modern discovery, not older than Hobbes, or, per- 
haps he might mean, than Spinosa. Strange, that a 
thing, in which all mankind are so much interested—-, 
and of which every man. who thinks, is a competent 
judge, and has occasion to think and speak every day 
of his life — should not have been found out till about 
two hundred years ago, and should still, in spite of all 
that can be said for it, although as certain as that two 
and two are four, be disbelieved by all mankind, a few 



Chap. II. 11. MORAL SCI ENCE. 11$ 

individuals excepted. — I shall only add, that, if the Deity 
be. as this author affir i s, the cause of all the evil, as well 
as of all the good- actions of his creatures, resentment 
and gratitude towards our fellow men are as unreasona- 
ble as towards the knife that wounds, or the salve that 
heals us ; and that to repent of the evil I am conscious 
of having committed, would be not only absurd but im- 
pious ; because it would imply a dissatisfaction with the 
will of him, who was the almighty cause of that evil, and 
was pleased in making me his instrument in doing it. 

258. I deny not, that the opposite do6trine of liberty 
may be thought to involve in it some difficulties, which 
our limited understanding cannot disentangle, particu- 
larly with respecl to the divine prescience and decrees. 
But in most things we find difficulties which we cannot 
solve; nor can any nan, without extreme presumption, 
affirm, that he distinctly knows, in what manner the di- 
vine prescience exerts itself, or how the freedom of man's 
will may be affected by the decrees of God. Such know- 
ledge is too wonderful for us : but of our own free agen- 
cy we are competent judges; because it is a matter of 
facl and experience ; and because all our moral and reli- 
gious notions, that is, all our most important knowledge, 
may be said to be either founded on it, or intimately con- 
nected with it. 

259. As Omnipotence can do whatever is possible, so 
Omniscience must know whatever can be known. Every 
thing, which God has determined to bring certainly to 
pass, he must foresee, as certain: and can it be thought 
imposssible, that he should foresee, not as certain, but as 
contingent* that which he has determined to be contingent, 
and not certain? Or will it be said* that it is not oossible 
for the Almighty to decree contingencies, as well as cer- 
tainties ; to leave it in my power, in certain cases, to acl: 
according to the free determination of my own mind ? 
our bodily strength, and our freedom of choice, in regard 
to good and evil, are matters of great moment to us : but 
the latter can no more interfere with the purposes of di- 
vine providence, than the former can retard or accele- 
rate the motion of the earth. It would not be very diffi- 
cult for a prudent man, who should have the entire com- 

k 






114 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

mand of a few children, to make them, in certain cases, 
promote his views, without laying any restraint on their 
will. Infinitely more must it be, for the almighty and 
omniscient governor of the universe, so to over-rule all 
the actions of his moral creatures, as to make them pro- 
mote, even while they are acting freely, his own wise and 
good purposes. 

SECT. II. 

Further remarks on the will*. 

260. TT was said, that the power of beginning motion, 
1 exerted of choice by a rational and intelligent 
being, may be called volition or will. The word will has 
other significations ; but I wish at present to use it in 
this sense. I call it a power of beginning motion : mean- 
ing, by the term motion, every change in the human 
mind or body which is usually denominated action.-*— . 
When we will to do a thing, we believe that thing to be 
in our power ; and when we witl, we always will some- 
thing, (and this something may be termed the object of 
volition) even as when we remember, we always re- 
member something, which may be called the object of 
remembrance. Things therefore done voluntarily are 
to be distinguished from things done, like a new-born in- 
fant's sucking, by instinct, as well as from things done 
by habit, like the constant motion of the eye-lids. 

261. Will and desire are not the same. What we will 
is an action, and our own action : but wt may desire 
what is not action, as that our friends may be happy— 
or what is no action of ours, as that our friends may be- 
have well. Nay* we may desire what we do not wilK as 
when we are thirsty* and abstain from drink on account 
of health : and we may will what we have an aversion to^ 
as when, on the same account, we force ourselves to 
swallow a nauseous medicine. Let us also distinguish 
between will and command; although, in cuii mon lan- 



* See Dr. Reid's essays on the active powers of man* 



Ch.IL2. MORAL SCIENCE. 115 

guage, what a man commands is often called his will. 
Vv e will to do some action of oar own ; we command an 
action to be done by another. D -sires and commands 
are also, in popular language confounded : but here too 
we must distinguish. u O if such a thing were given 
"me," is not the same with 4i Give me such a thing:" 
and if a tyrant to get a pretence for punishing, were 
to command what he knew could not be done, it might 
be a command without desire. 

262. I said that when we will to do a thing, we believe 
that thing to be in our power, or to dtpend upon our will. 
In exerting myself to raise a weight from the ground, I 
believe, either that I can raise it, or that it is in my power 
to try whether I can raise it or not. A very great weight, 
which 1 know to be far above my strength, 1 never at- 
tempt to raise. I never exert myself for the purpose of 
flying; I never wil to speak a language I have not learn- 
ed ; because I know it to be out of my power. Our will 
may, however, be exerted in atte opting to do what we 
know to be at the first trial impraclicab!e| as when one 
begins to learn to perform on a musical instrument : but 
in this case we believe, that frequent attempts, properly 
directed, will make the thing possible, and at last easy. 
And we know, that the first principles of musical per- 
formances, as well as of othrr arts* are adapted to the abi- 
lity of a beginner, and consequently in his power. 

263. Some acts of the will are transient, others more 
lasting. When I wiU to stretch out my hand, and snuff 
the candle the energy of the will is at an end, as soon 
as the action is over. When I will to read a book, or 
write a letter, from beginning to end, without stopping, 
the will is exerted till the reading or the writing be 
finished. We may wVl to persist for a course of years 
in a certain conduct ; to read, for example, so much 
Greek every dav, till we learn to read it with ease: this 
sort of will is commonly called a resolution. We may 
will or resolve to do our duty on all occasions, as long as 
we live : and he, who resolves, and perseveres in the re- 
solution, is a good man. A single act of virtue is a good 
thing, but does not make a man of virtue ; he only is so, 
who resolves to be virtuous, and adheres to his purpose. 



116 ELEMENTS OP Parti. 

Aristotle rightly thought, that virtue consists not in tran- 
sient a6\s, but in a settled habit or disposition ; agreea- 
ble to which is the old definition of justice, Constant et 
perpetua voluntas suum cuique tribuendi. So of the other 
virtues. He is not a temperate or valiant man who is 
so now and then only, or merely by chance ; but he who 
is intentionally and habitually temperate or valiant. Him, 
in like manner, we judge to be a vicious character, not 
who through the weakness of human nature has fallen 
into transgression, but who persists in transgression, or 
intends to transgress, or is indifferent whether he trans- 
gress or not, or resolves that he will not take the trouble 
to guard against it. 

264. For acYions wherein the will has no concern, a 
man, as observed already, is not accounted either virtu- 
ous or vicious, and can deserve neither reward or punish- 
ment, neither praise nor blame. This is the universal 
belief of rational nature, and on this the laws of all en- 
lightened nations are founded. It is true, that laws have 
entailed inconvenience upon the guiltless offspring of the 
guilty. But such laws either were unjust ; or were made 
with a political view, to restrain fathers the more effectu- 
ally from certain great crimes, high treason for exam- 
ple: in which last case they may, as many human laws 
are, be good upon the whole, because profitable to the 
community, though a grievous hardship to individuals. 
Inequalities of this kind are unavoidable. At my return 
from a long voyage, my health mav require the refresh- 
ments of the land ; and yet, if there be a suspicion of 
plague in the ship, I may, without having any reason to 
charge the government with cruelty* be forced to re- 
main on board many days, even though my death should 
be the consequence. With his parents a man is indeed 
so closely connected, that, even where the law does not 
interpose at all, he may, and often n^ust, derive good 
from their virtue, or evil from their misconduct ; com- 
petence, for example, from their industry, or poverty 
from their sloth ; a sound constitution from their tempe- 
rance, or hereditary disease frnrn their sensuality : ho- 
nour from their merit, or dishonour from their infamy. 



Ch. II. 3. MORAL SCIENCE. 117 

This may suggest an obvious and important lesson both 
to parents and to children. 

SECT. III. 

Principles of aclion. 

265. TN strict propriety of speech, and in all rational 
| enquiry concerning the imputableness of actions, 
every thingt that is called human acton, is supposed to 
depend on the hu- an will. But, in common language, 
the word action, is used with more latitude, and animals 
are ofu-n said to act, or do, what they do not will, and 
even what they do not think, of An infant is said to act, 
while it sucks; a bee, while it gathers honey ; and a man, 
while he takes snuff without knowing that he takes it, 
as have been told that snuff-takers often do. In speak- 
ing of the princ pies of act on, 1 must now use the word in 
this inaccurate and popular sense. A principle of human 
action is, that which incites a man to acV . Our princi- 
ples of action are many and various ; I will not under- 
take to give a complete enumeration : it may be suffici- 
ent to specify a lew of the most remarkable, which I ar- 
range under the following heads. 1. instinct. 2. habit. 

3. APPETITE. 4. PASSIONS and AFFECTIONS. 5. MORAL 

principles ; deferring these last, at present, as they will 
find a place hereafter in moral philosophy. 

Of instinct. 

266. Instinct is a natural impulse to certain actions, 
which the animal performs without deliberation, without 
having any end in view, and frequently without knowing 
what it does. It is thus the new-born infant sucks, and 
swallows, and breathes ; operations* which, in their me- 
chanism, are very complex, though attended with no la- 
bour or thought to th infant ; thus, when hungry, it has 
recourse to the mother's milk, before it knows that milk 
will relieve it, thus it cries while in pain or in fear ; and 

* See Dr. Reid on the active powers of man. 
L 2 



118 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

thus it is soothed by the simple song and soft accents of 
the nurse. Similar instincts are found in the young of 
other animals : and, as they advance in life, the same un- 
erring principle, derived not fro : experience, or art, or 
habit, but from the all-wise Author and Preserver of their 
being, makes them provide for themselves and their 
young, and utter those voices, betake themselves to that 
course of life, and use those means of self-defence, which 
are suitable to their cii cm stances and nature. 

267. The arts of man are all of human invention, and 
advance to perfection gradually ; and long practice is ne- 
cessary to make us perform in them with ease. But the 
arts of inferior animals, and their manufactures, (if we 
may use so strong a catachresis — the nest of the bird, 
for example — the honey and honey-comb of the bee — the 
-web of the spider — the threads of the silk-worm — the 
holes or houses of the beaver, Sec. are not invented or 
taught, are uniform in all the individuals of a species, 
are not more exquisite now than they were four thousand 
years ago, and, except where outward circumstances are 
unfavourable, are all perfect in their kind. Those things, 
however, which the more sagacious animals may be 
taught to do, are more or less perfe£\ly done, according 
to their degree of sagacity, and the skill and pains em- 
ployed in their education. 

268. Instinct, being partly intended to make up for 
the weakness or the want of understanding in animals, 
is more or less necessary to their preservation and com- 
fort, according as the understanding is more or less de- 
fective. In the beginning of life, we do much by instinct, 
and little by understanding when we have attained the 
use of reason, the case is in some measure reversed. 
Yet, ^ven when arrived at maturity, there are occasions 
innumerable, on which, because reason cannot guide us, 
we must be guided by instinct. Reason informs us, that 
we must do a certain action, swallow our food, for ex- 
ample, stretch out our arm, move our limbs &c but how 
ihe action is done, we know not ; we only know that it 
follows or accompanies an energy of our will. We will 
10 swallow, to walk. &c. and the very complex machine- 
ry of nerves and. muscles, necessary to those actions, is 



Gh.II.3. MORAL SCIENCE. 119 

set a-going by instinct, and instantly produces them. 
There are actions, too, as the motions of our eye-lids, 
which must be done so frequently, that if we were oblig- 
ed to intend and will them every time they are done, we 
could do nothing else : these therefore are generally in- 
stinctive. And sometimes, for our preservation, we n-ust 
act so suddenly, that there is no time for determination 
and willing ; as when we pull away our hand from any 
thing that burns it, shut our eyes against a stroke that 
seems to be aimed at them, or throw out our arm to re- 
cover the balance of our body, when in danger of falling. 
Such motions may also be ascribed to instinct ; as well as 
those efforts which animals, in immediate danger of 
death by drowning, strangling, Sec- xnAe to preserve 
themselves. 

269. Our proneness to imitation is also in some degree 
instinctive In the arts, indeed, as painting and poetry, 
imitation is the effect of will and design. But a child, 
who lives in society? learns of himself to speak, though 
no particular pains be takew to teach him ; and acquires 
at the same time the accent, and frequently the sound of 
voice, of those with whom he lives, as well as their modes 
of thinking and acting. What a happiness, then, is it for 
a young person to be brought up in the company of the 
wise and the good ! " ild men, who in their younger 
years lived savage, solitary and dumb, and were after- 
wards brought into civilized society a few instancesthere 
have been of such \ were found incapable of acquiring 
either speech or a right use of reason, though pains were 
taken to teach them both. In many cases, children, and 
in some cases, grown men may be said to believe by in- 
stinct. Thus an infant believes vfrhat a man seriously tells 
him is true; and that what once or twice happened, in 
certain circumstances, will, in the same circumstances, 
happen again, as in the case of his finger having been 
burned by a candle. And thus we all believe, that things 
are as they appear to our senses, and that things «p 
what we remember them to have been. 



120 ELEMENTS OF Part L 



Of Habit. 

270. The word habit is used in two different signifi- 
cations, which frequently are, and may without inconve- 
nience be, confounded in common language It denotes 
a facility of doing a thing* acquired by having frequently 
done it ; in this sense of the word, habit can hardly be 
called a principle of action. See \ 265. Habit is a princi- 
ple of action, when in consequence of having frequently 
done a thing, we acquire an inclination to do it. A. man, 
who is accustomed to walk every day at a certain hour, 
is uneasy if he be kept from walking : and they who read 
much, are never happy at a distance from books. Choose 
the best course of life, said an ancient moralist, and cus- 
tom will make it the most pleasant. If frequency of per- 
formance did not produce facility, art would be impossi- 
ble : but why the one should produce the other, we can- 
not explain ; we can only say, that such is the law of our 
nature. And if doing a thing frequently did not breed 
an inclination to do it, the improvement of our nature 
would be impossible, and we could hardly be said to be 
moral beings. Without instinct, an infant could not live 
to be a man ; and without habit, a man would always con- 
tinue as helpless as an infant. 

\ 271. Habit, in both senses of the word, is observa* 
ble in the more sagacious brutes, and in none more 
than in dogs trained to hunting, and horses inured 
to the discipline of war. The war- horse not only 
learns to obey command, but is impetuous to obey it; 
and the beagle seems to take as much delight as his 
master in the sports of the field. The power of habit 
in for ^in^ rational beings to vice or virtue, to elegant 
or rustir manners, to attention or inattention, to industry 
or idleness, to temperance or sensuality, to passionateness 
or forbearance, to manual dexterity or the want of it, is 
universally acknowledged : something, no doubt.depends 
on the peculiar constitution of different minds; and some- 
thing too. perhaps, on the structure and temperament of 
different bodies: but in fashioning the character, and in 



Ch. II. 3. MORAL SCIENCE. 121 

giving impulse and direction to genius, the influence of 
habit is certainly very great. 

^72. As in tarly life our powers of imitation are 
strongest, our minds most docile, and our bodily organs 
most flexible, so good or bad habits, both mental and 
corporeal, are then most easily acquired. Hence the ne- 
cessity of early discipline, the unspeakable advantages 
of a good education, and the innumerable evils conse- 
quent upon a bad one. It amazt -s one to consider, what 
progress in the most difficult arts, may be made, when 
our faculties of mind and body are properly directed in 
the beginning of life ; and how easy an action, which at 
first seemed impracticable, comes to be, when it has 
grown habitual. Performances in music and painting, 
and many other sorts of manual dexterity, might be men- 
tioned as exa pies : to say nothing of those barbarous 
arts of balancing, tumbling, and legerdemain, which in 
all ages have been de mc! so wonderful, that the clown 
is inclined to impute ihem ro mag'c, and even the more 
considerate spectator, when he first sees them, can hard- 
ly believe his own eyes. 

273. But nothing in a more astonishing manner dis- 
plays the power of habit, or rather of habit and genius 
umtetl. in ^ac 1 the nerformance of the most com- 

plex and most difficult exertions of the human mind, 
than the eloquent and unstudied harangue of a graceful 
speaker in a great political assemi • . It is long be font 
we learn to articulate words ; long before we can deliver 
them with exact propriety ; and longer still before we 
can recollect a sufficient variety of them, and, out of 
many that may occur at once, select instantly the most 
proper. Then, the rules of grammar, of logic, of rhe- 
toric, and of good-breedine , which can on no account be 
dispensed with, are so numerous, that volumes might be 
filled with them, and years emploved in acquiring the 
ready use of them. Yet to the accomplished orator all 
this is so familiar, in consequence of being habitual, that 
without thinking of his rules, or violating any one of 
them, he applies them all : and has, at the same time, 
present to his mind whatever he may have heard of im- 
portance in the course of the debate, and whatever in the 



122 ELEMENTS OF Parti, 

laws or customs of his country, may relate to the busi- 
nehs m hand : which, as a v* ry accute and ingenious au- 
thor observes '« if it were not more common, would ap- 
" pear ore wonderful, than that a man should dance 
"blindfolded, without being burned, amidst a thousand 
"red-hot ploughshares*. " 

Or APPETITE. 

274. The word appetitk, in common language, of- 
ten means hunger, and sometimes, figuratively, any 
strong desire. It is here used to signify a particular sort 
of uneasy feeling in ani'r.als, returning at certain inter- 
vals, and demanding such gratification as is necessary 
to support the life of the individual, or to continue the 
species. The gratification being obtained, the appetite 
ceases for a while, and is afterwards renewed* Hunger 
and thirst are two of our natural appetites; their im- 
portance to our preservation is obvious; brutes have 
them as well as we; and the same remarks, ti at are here 
made on the one, may, with a little variation, be made 
on the other. Hunger is a complex sensation, and im- 
plies two things quite different from each other, an unea- 
sy feeling, and a desire of food. In very young infants, 
it is at first only an uneasy feeling ; which., however, 
prompts the little animal instinctively to suck and swal- 
low such nourishment as comes in his way, and without 
which he must inevitably perish. Afterwards, when ex- 
perience has taught him, that the uneasy ft el'mg is to be 
removed by food, the one suggests the other to his mind, 
and hunger becomes in him the same complex feeling as 
in us. In the choice of food, the several species of irra- 
tional animals are guided, by instinct chiefly, to that 
which is most suitable to their nature: and in this re- 
spect their instinct is sometimes less fallible than human 
reason. The mariner in a desert island, is shy of eating 
those unknown fruits, however delectable to sight and 
smell, which are not marked with the pecking of birds. 

275. Before we cease to be infants, our reason informs 



* See Reid on the active powers of man. Essay III. 






Ch. II. 3. MORAL SCIENCE. 123 

us, that food is indispensable ; but through the whole of 
life appetite continues to be necessary, to remind us of 
our natural wants, and the proper time of supplying 
them : for as nourishment becomes more needful, appe- 
tite grows more clamorous ; till at last it calls off our 
attention from every thing else, whether business or a- 
musement ; and, if the gratification be still withheld, 
terminates in delirium and death. Hunger and thirst 
are the strongest of all our appetites, being the most es- 
sential to our preservation : it is generally owing to cri- 
minal indulgence, when any other appetite acquires un- 
reasonable strength— In obeying the natural call of ap- 
petite, in eating when hungry, or drinking when thirsty, 
there is neither virtus nor vice ; unless by so doing we 
intentionally promote some good purpose, or violate some 
duty. But rightly to manage our appetites, so as to 
keep them in due subordination to reason, is a chief part 
of virtue as tLe unlimited or licentious indulgence of 
them degrades our nature, and perverts all our rational 
faculties. 

276. Rest after motion is essential to life, as well as 
food after fasting; and, when rest becomes necessary, 
nature gives the sensation of weariness; which, like 
hunger and thirst* comes at last to be irresistible, is made 
up of an uneasy feeling and a desire of a certain object, 
go< s off on being gratified, and, after a certain interval, 
returns. But we must not call weariness an appetite^ 
nor is it co nmonly called so. Appetite prompts to ac- 
tion, weariness to rest-* appetite rises, though no action 
have preceded' weariness follows 6>ion, as the effect 
follows the cause. * v e have a sort of appetite for action 
in general: it maybe called activity; and, when exces- 
sive or troublesome to others is termed festlessr ss« 
For, as action is necessary to our welfare both in mind 
and body, our constitution would bt defective, if we 
had not something to stimulate to action, independent- 
ly on the dictates of reason. This activity is very ton- 
spiruoia* in chil rep who, as soon as they have trot the 
faculty and habit of mpving tluir limbs, and long before 
thev can be taj I to h a v.. the use of reason, are when in 
he-hh and iwake, almost continually in motion. t is, 
however, through the whole life, so necessary, that with* 






124 ELEMENTS OP Part I. 

out it there can be no happiness- To a person of sound 
constitution, idleness is misery : if long continued, it im- 
pairs, and at last destroys, the vigour of both the soul aad 
the body. 

277. it were well for man, if he had no appetites but 
those that nature gave him ; for they are but few ; and 
they are all beneficial, not only by ministering to his pre- 
servation and comfort, but also by rousing him to indus- 
try and other laudable exertions. But of unnatural or ar- 
tificial appetites, if they may be called appetites, which 
man creates for himself, there is no end; and the more 
he acquires of these, the more he is dependent, and the 
more liable to want and wretchedness. It behoves us, 
therefore, as we value our own peice, and the dignity of 
our nature, to guard against them. Some of the propen- 
sities now alluded to, may, no doubt, havebeen occasioned 
in part by disease of body, or distress of mind : but they 
are, in general, owing to idleness and affectation, or to a 
foolish desire of imitating fashionable absurdity. They 
are not all criminal, but they all have a tendency to de- 
base us; and by some of them men have made themselves 
disagreeable, useless, contemptible, and even a nuisance 
in society. When I mention tobacco, strong liquors, 
opiates, gluttony, and gaming, it will be known what I 
mean by unnatural appetite, and acknowledged, that I 
have not characterised it too severely. 

SECT. IV. 

THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. 

Passions and affections. 

>^f 8. '"PHE word passion properly means suffering; but 
is seldom used in that sense, except when we 
speak of our Saviour* s passion, as in the beginning of the 
Acts of the Apostles, By passion the common people mean 
little more than anger; and anger is a passion, but it is, 
only one of many. Some philosophers have used the word 
to signify whatever moves us to a£lion; but this use of it 
is too extensive* The sense, in which I here understand 



Ch. II. 4. MORAL SCIENCE. 125 

it, will appear by and by. — When we act voluntarily, it 
is in order to obtain what is, or appears to be, good, or to 
avoid what is, or appears to be, evil. Good, real or ap- 
parent, excites desire ; evil, real or apparent, excites a- 
version : but in this acceptation, the words desire and g- 
version are. used with great latitude. Desires and aver- 
sions are two copious classes of passions ; and assume 
different forms, and are called by different names, ac- 
cording to the nature of the good or evil that draws them 
forth, and its situation with respect to us. For example ; 
present good gives rise to joy — probable good to hope. — 
present evil to sorrow — probable evil to fear : good quali- 
ties in another person raise our love, or liking ; evil quali- 
ties in another our dislike, &c. 

279, Each variety of desire and aversion, as well as 
every other passion, is agreeable in the feeling, or is dis- 
agreeable ; and, if in any degree violent, is attended with 
some commotion in the body, as well as in the mind. 
For by varying the human countenance and attitude, 
painters may express almost every passion ; which could 
not be, if the passions did not make perceptible changes 
in the outward appearance of the body. A passion, 
therefore, may be said to be " a commotion of the soul, 
" attended with pleasure or pain affecting both the mind 
" and the body, and arising from the view of something 
" which is, or appears to be, good or evil." If we rank 
admiration among the passions, which I think is com- 
monly done, we must vary the last clause thus : — " and 
" arising from the view of something which is, or appears 
" to be, good, or evil, or uncommon." In treating of the 
passions, I shall, first, make some general remarks upon 
them ; secondly, I shall endeavour to arrange them in 
classes, and describe the more remarkable ones ; and I 
shall conclude with some rules for the right manage- 
ment of this part of our moral nature. I do not promise, 
I will not even attempt, a complete enumeration. Some 
passions may probably occur to me, which yet 1 shall for- 
bear to mention, because I would not put my hearers in 
mind of them. 

280. These emotions have got the name of passions, 
probably because in receiving the first impressions of 

M 



126 ELEMENTS O F Part I* 

them, our mind is passive, being acted upon, or influen- 
ced, by the body, by external things, or by the imagina- 
tion. — We may distinguish between the cause of a pas- 
sion and its object. The cause is that which raises it ; the 
object is that towards which it prompts us to act, or on 
which it inclines us to fix our attention. The cause and 
the object of a passion, are often, but not always, one and 
the same thing. Thus present good is both the cause 
and the object of joy ; we rejoice in it, and we rejoice on 
account of it. But of love or esteem the cause is soine a- 
greeable quality, and the object is some person supposed 
to possess that agreeable quality : of resentment, in like 
manner, injury is the cause, and the injurious person 
the object. 

281. That may be well enough understood, which it 
is not easy to describe philosophically. This part of hu* 
man nature is in general so well understood, that most 
people know what will draw forth the passions of men, 
and in what manner those passions operate t yet a com- 
plete analysis of them is still, if 1 mistake not, a deside- 
ratum in moral science* The following sketch (for the 
outline of which lam indebted to Dr. Watts) may have 
its use, but is very susceptible of improvement* The 
difficulties attending this subject arise from several cau- 
ses : from the insufficiency of human language, which 
does not supply a name for each form and variety of hu- 
man affection, and of course makes it necessary to ex- 
press different affections by the same name ; from the 
complex nature of the passions themselves, as they vary 
their appearance in men of different characters, and in 
the same man at different times and in different circum- 
stances ; and perhaps, too, from that partiality, which in- 
clines us to think and speak too favourably of those pas- 
sions, that most easily beset ourselves, and with too little 
favour of such as may seem to predominate in other men. 

282. The passions have been variously arranged, ac- 
cording to the various views which have been taken of 
them. They may be divided into pleasant and painful* 
Criminal passions bring pain — virtuous affections, plea- 
sure. And therefore to cherish good affections makes a 
man happy, and to indulge evil passions makes him 
wretched : happiness being rather a habit of the mind, 



Ch. II. 4. MORAL SCIENCE. 127 

than a thing that depends on outward circumstances. 
For, amidst the greatest worldly prosperity, the state of 
a man's mind, who is haunted with the horrors of a guil- 
ty conscience, or with envy, jealousy, malice, and other 
evil passions, may make him completely miserable : and 
disease and poverty united, will not make that person un- 
happy, who has a good conscience, and is piously resign- 
ed to the divine will. — It may be objected, that some evil 
passions, as revenge, give pleasure ; and that some good 
ones, pity, for example, are painful. But the answer is 
easy. Of pity, as both a painful and a pleasurable emo- 
tion, I have spoken already ($ 191.): and, with respect 
to revenge, I shall only observe at present, that, though 
it may, to an indelicate and inconsiderate mind, give a 
momentary gratification, even as gluttony and excessive 
drinking may to a depraved appetite, it can never bring 
happiness along with it ; — because it is accompanied 
with many tormenting thoughts ; because the promis- 
cuous perpetration of it would unhinge society, and in 
time exterminate the human race ; and because the op- 
posite virtue of forgiveness is one of the most amiable 
and most delightful (I had almost said, most godlike) 
affections whereof rational nature is capable. 

283. Though the passions are justly reckoned princi- 
ples of action, (indeed if we had no passions, we should 
never act voluntarily, at least we should never act with 
alacrity or vigour), they may, however, be divided into 
such as do not prompt to action, and such as do. Of the 
former class, which incline rather to rest, by fixing the 
attention upon their causes or objects, are admiration, joy f 
and sorrow. Of the latter, which are properly active 
principles, are hope, fear, desire, aversion, benevolence, gra- 
titude, anger, &c. If joy in the possession of good be 
blended with the fear of losing it, this will produce au 
active propensity, disposing us to exert ourselves in the 
preservation of it. In like manner, if sorrow be mixed 
with hope, as in the case of one whose friend is danger- 
ously ill— or with fear, or with curiosity, as in the case of 
one who hears he has lost a friend, but is not informed 
of the person — in these cases, sorrow will become ac- 
tive, and make a man exert himself in procuring relief 



128 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

for his friend in the one case, and in obtaining full infor- 
mation in the other. In all our active passions there is 
a certain degree of anxiety, restlessness, or desire ; 
which, however, is not always painful. Benevolence is 
anxious to promote another's good, and gratitude^ to 
make acknowledgments and requite the favour: but 
these are delightful emotions notwithstanding. 

284. The passions may be divided into selfish and be- 
nevolent; the former aim at our own good, the latter at 
the good of others. A rational desire of our own happi- 
ness, which may be called self-love, is a powerful and use- 
ful propensity, and, when rightly managed, tends to hap- 
piness universal. In this respect, " true self-love and 
social are the same." For that must be beneficial to the 
species, which, without injury to any, promotes the good 
of the individual ; even as that, which removes disease 
from one of the limbs, contributes to the health of the 
whole body. Self-love, when excessive, or when injuri- 
ous to others, may be called selfishness^ and is a hateful 
disposition. 

285. With rational self-love we mu9t not confound 
those desires which men take to particular worldly 
things, as power, pleasure, and riches. For so far are 
these from making a man happy, that they often make 
him miserable. And it is not so much with a view to 
happiness that ambitious, covetous and sensual men pur- 
sue their favourite schemes, as in order to obtain power, 
wealth, and pleasure ; to the possession of which they 
must know, if they know any thing, that happiness is 
not annexed. But without power, pleasure, wealth, say 
they, we cannot be happy, and therefore we pursue them. 
Sots, in like manner, say they cannot be happy without 
the means of intoxication. But surely no man in his 
senses can believe, that self-love is gratified by excessive 
drinking ; or that brandy and tobacco* have any thing to 
do with rational felicity, except perhaps by their tenden- 
cy to destroy it- There have been drunkards, who could 
persevere in their vile habits, even while they knew that 



* I speak of them, not as medicines, but as luxuries. 






Chap. II. 4. M O R A L S C I E N C E. 129 

ruin and death would be the consequence. Such men 
being really their own enemies, it would be a strange a- 
buse of words to say that they were actuated by self- 
love : and the same thing may be affirmed of all who 
are enslaved to ambition, covetousness, or sensuality. 

286. It has been questioned, whether there be in man 
any principle of pure benevolence, which aims at the 
good of others, only, without any view to the gratifica- 
tion of one's self. By doing good to others we do indeed 
most effectually gratify ourselves ; for what can give a 
man more pleasure, than to reflect, that he has been in- 
strumental in promoting a fellow-creature's happiness i 
Yet every good man may be sensible, that he often does 
good, and wishes well, to others, without any immediate 
view to his own gratification, nay without thinking of 
himself at all. In fact, if we had not principles purely 
benevolent, we could not gratify ourselves by doing o- 
thers good. Children have been known to sacrifice their 
inclinations to the happiness of those they loved, when 
they themselves believed that their own interest would 
in every respect suffer by doing so. It is not my mean- 
ing, that all children, or all men, are so disinterested ; I 
only say, that pure benevolence is to be found in human 
nature : a doctrine, which, though to many it may ap- 
pear self-evident, has been much controverted ; and 
which there are men in the world, who, judging of all 
others by themselves, will never heartily acquiesce in. 

287. It has also been made a question, whether there 
be in man a principle of universal benevolence. But does 
not every good man wish well to all mankind ? and is not 
this universal benevolence ? He who wishes harm to 
those who never offended him, or who cares not whether 
a fellow-creature be happy or unhappy, is- a monster, 
and deserves not the name of a man. It is true, that e- 
very man, even in civilized society, is not capable of 
forming extensive views of things, or of considering the 
whole human race, or the whole system of percipient 
beings, as the objects of his benevolence. But in every 
good man there is a benevolent, principle, which makes 
him wish well, and do good to every one to whom he 
has it in his power to be serviceable : and this sort of be- 

M 2 



130 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

nevolence will do as much real good in the world, as be- 
nevolence universal. Accordingly, our religion, which 
is suited to our general nature, and enjoins nothing, as 
incumbent on all men, but what every man, of extensive 
or narrow views, of more or less knowledge, may per- 
form — our religion, I say, instead of recommending u- 
niversal benevolence in the abstract, requires, that we 
do good to all men, as ive have opportunity ; and com- 
mands us to love our neighbour as ourselves ; declaring 
every man to be our neighbour, who needs our aid, and 
to whom we have the means of giving it. 

288. Concerning universal benevolence some have ar- 
gued in this manner. " Benevolence arises from love ; 
M and love from the view of agreeable qualities in ano- 
" ther. Now the good qualities of others can be known 
" to us in two ways only; from personal acquaintance, 
u or from information* Of one of whom we never saw 
" or heard of, we cannot know either the good qualities, 
" or the bad : him therefore we cannot love ; but bene- 
u volence is founded in love : therefore towards such a 
" person we cannot be benevolent. It follows, that there 
u can be no such affection as universal benevolence in 
li human nature." Th'19 reasoning is good for nothing. 
Whether the principle in question be a part of our 
frame, is a query that relates to a matter of fact, and is 
therefore to be determined, not by argument, but by ob- 
servation and experience. He who is conscious, that he 
wishes well to all his fellow-creatures, is a man of uni- 
versal benevolence: and I have no scruple to affirm, that 
every good man does so, and that to do so is in the power 
of every man. 

289. Though one were to grant the premises of the 
foregoing argument, the conclusion would not follow. 
For, though we are not personally acquainted with every 
man upon earth, we know, that all men possess certain 
agreeable qualities, for which we may and ought to love 
them. We know, that all men are percipient beings, are 
endowed with reason and speech, are animated with souls 
intelligent and immortal, are descended from our first 
parents, and are dependent on the same Great Being on 
whom we depend. On these accounts, a good man loves 



Ch. II. 4. MORAL SCIENCE. 131 

all mankind ; and may, therefore, if benevolence arise 
from love, be benevolent towards all mankind. The very 
circumstance of our all inhabiting the same planet, and 
of being all liable to the same wants and infirmities, will 
naturally serve as a bond of endearment ; for similarity 
of fortune never fails to attach men to one another. 

290. Some passions are called unnatural, as envy, male- 
volence, and pride. The reason is, because they are de- 
structive of good affections that are natural. We natu- 
rally love excellence wherever we see it : but the envi- 
ous man hates it, and wishes to be superior to others, not 
by raising himself by honest means, but by injuriously 
pulling them down. It is natural to rejoice in the good 
of others: but the malevolent heart triumphs in their 
misery. It is natural for us to regard mankind as our 
companions and brethren : but the proud man regards 
himself only, despising others, as if they were beneath 
him. These unnatural passions are always evil : they 
make a man odious to his fellow-creatures, and unhap- 
py in himself: and they tend to the utter depravation 
of the human soul. Anger and resentment may lead to 
mischief ; but, if kept within the due bounds, are useful 
for self defence, and therefore not to be altogether sup- 
pressed. We may be angry without sin ; and not to re- 
sent injury is the same thing as not to perceive it, which 
would be insensibility. Nay, on some occasions, re- 
sentment and anger are further useful, by cherishing in 
us an abhorrence of injustice, and fortifying our minds 
against it. But pride, malevolence, and envy, can ne- 
ver be useful or innocent : to indulge them, even for a 
moment, is criminal. 

291. The passions have long ago been divided into 
calm and violent. Of the former sort, commonly termed 
affections^ are benevolence, pity, gratitude, and, in gene- 
ral, all virtuous and innocent emotions. Of the latter, 
are anger, hatred, avarice, ambition, revenge, excessive 
joy or sorrow, and in general all criminal and all immo- 
derate emotions ; which, in imitation of the Greek?, we 
may call passions^ using the word in a strict sense. The 
former are salutary to the soul, the latter dangerous. 
Those resemble serene weather, accompanied with such 






132 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

gales, and refreshing showers, as prevent stagnation, and 
cheer by their variety : these may be likened to storms 
and other elemental commotions, that terrify and des- 
troy. Violent passions, very properly expressed by the 
Latin word psrturbationes, always discompose the mind, 
and impair reason to a certain degree ; and have been 
known to rise even to phrenzy, and hurry men on to per- 
petrations, that have shortened their days, and made life 
miserable, and death infamous. Many of them are at- 
tended with feverish symptoms : some give an unac- 
countable addition of bodily strength, which however 
soon ends in languor : and some have brought on faint- 
ing, apoplexy, and instant death. Nothing more need 
be said, to show the dreadful effects of violent passion, 
the indispensable duty of guarding against it, and the 
inexcusable temerity of speaking and acting under its 
influence. 

292. The peripatetics, or followers of Aristotle, right- 
ly thought, that the passions, dangerous as they are, 
ought not to be extinguished, even though that were 
possible; for that, being natural, they must be useful ; 
but that they are to be regulated by reason, and kept 
within the bounds of moderation. All those violent e- 
motions, that urge us on to pleasure, or to the avoidance 
of pain, by a blind impulse, were, by the schoolmen, who 
professed to derive their tenets from the same source, 
referred to what they called the sensitive appetite ; be- 
cause they seemed to partake more of the senses than 
of reason : and those calmer affections, that prompt us 
to pursue good rationally and with tranquillity, they re-> 
ferred to the rational appetite, because more nearly alli- 
ed to reason than to the senses. 

293. Pythagoras and Plato ascribe to the soul two nar 
tures, or, to give it the words of Cicero, animum in duas 
partes dividunt, divide the soul into two parts, the one 
rational, the other Irrational. In the rational nature they 
placed what they called tranquillity, that is, as Cicero 
explains the word, placida et quieia constant! a, an easy and 
quiet consistency or uniformity. To the irrational part 
theyu referred what they Greeks called irxSn or passions, 
and the Latins more properly, perturbationes, or discern- 



Ch.II.4. MORAL SCIENCE. 133 

posures, those turbulent emotions, both of anger and de- 
sire, which are contrary and unfriendly to reason. There 
is, in Cicero's fourth book of Tusculan Inquiries, a par- 
ticular enumeration of the several sorts of perturb at i ones 
and constantice^ according to the stoical system. The 
passage deserves attention ; not so much for the philoso- 
phy contained in it, as because it ascertains the signifi- 
cation of some Latin words, which are not for the most 
part exactly understood. 

294, Indeed it is not very easy to comprehend what 
the stoics say on this subject. Sometimes they would 
seem to require the extinction of all our passions, of all 
at least that are influenced by external things ; for they 
hold, that nothing external is either good or evil, virtue 
being, according to them, not only the greatest, but the 
only good. At other times they are not so unfavourable 
to the passions ; but grant indulgence to those that in- 
terrupt not that calm constancy, and steady uniformity, 
which they supposed to constitute the glory of the hu- 
man character. Thus they allow, that gaudium^ or ra- 
tional and tranquil joy, may be permitted to have a place 
in the human breast ; but they proscribe latitia^ which, 
it seems, is a more tumultuous sort cf gladness, as un- 
worthy of a wise man. They are indeed licentious, and 
frequently whimsical, in their use of words ; so that it is 
difficult to understand them in their own tongues, the 
Greek and Latin, and still more so to translate their doc- 
trines into any modern language. Mrs. Carter has how- 
ever been singularly successful in her version of the 
discourses of Epictetus ; to which she has prefixed an 
elegant introduction, of more value than all the rest of 
the book. To that introduction I would refer those who 
wish to form a just idea of the spirit and genius of the 
stoical philosophy. 

295. It cannot be doubted, that pure and created spir- 
its may be susceptible of emotions somewhat similar to 
human passions, as joy, gratitude, admiration, esteem, 
love, and the like. Hence, some authors, in treating of 
the passions, have divided them into spiritual and hu- 
man. The former we are supposed to be capable of, in 
common with angels and other created spirits : the lat- 
ter are peculiar to our present constitution, as composed 



134 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

of soul and body. I need not take further notice of this 
division. Through the whole of the ensuing arrange- 
ment, I must be understood to speak of the passions, as 
they affecl human creatures in the present state. Of 
the emotions of pure spirits we may form conjectures : 
but we can speak with certainty, and scientifically of 
those only which are known to us by experience. 

SEC f. V. 

THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. 

Passions and affections. 

296. r i^HE first class of passions that I shall take no- 
X tice of, comprehends admiration, and some o- 
ther emotions allied to it. What is either uncommon in 
itself, or endowed with uncommon qualities, raises ad- 
miration or wonder. The sun is seen every day, and 
therefore is in one respect not uncommon ; yet who 
does not admire his extraordinary magnitude and splen- 
dour, and beneficial influences! When, as in this exam- 
ple, the object we contemplate is transcendently excel- 
lent or great, admiration becomes astonishment ; and an 
uncommon or unexpected object appearing on a sudden, 
raises within us an emotion called surprise. The pas- 
sions of this class, when under no restraint, naturally ex- 
press themselves by opening the mouth and eyes, raising 
the eyebrows, lifting up the hands, and spreading the 
fingers : surprise, when violent, occasions starting and o- 
ther nervous symptoms. These are all kindred emotions, 
and yet they are not the same, 

297, Admiration and wonder may be distinguished. The 
former is generally a pleasurable passion, its object 
being, for the most part, good, or great, or both ; the 
latter may be agreeable, or otherwise, according to 
circumstances. We wonder at the folly and wickedness 
of some people, but can hardly be said to admire it. 
We wonder at the ingenuity displayed in harnessing a 
flea to a microscopic chariot: but the genius of the art- 
ist we do not admire ; because it exerts itself in no- 
thing that can be called either great or good \ and be- 



Ch. II- 5. MORAL SCIENCE. 135 

cause, though at first view it may yield a slight gratifica- 
tion, one is rather vexed than pleased to think that so 
much skill and time should be thrown away upon such a 
trifle. We may also distinguish between admiration 
and surprise. The sudden appearance of a person in a 
place where we did not expect him, may surprise us, 
without being matter of admiration. And admiration, 
as already observed, is generally, if not always, pleasing; 
but it is not so with surprise. 

298. We speak of disagreeable as well as agreeable 
surprises, and of astonishment that confounds, as well as 
of astonishment that delights; but of disagreeable or pain- 
ful admiration, I think we seldom or never speak. It 
would be an agreeable surprise, if, on going to visit a friend 
whom we believed to be dangerously ill, we should find 
him in perfect health; and in contrary circumstances, our 
surprise would be painful in the extreme. Delightful a- 
stonishment we receive from the contemplation of pure 
sublimity (see § 163): but the astonishment that seizes 
the young warrior, when the thunder of the battle begins, 
confounds at first and stupifies, though valour and a sense 
of duty soon get the better of it. This extreme and pain- 
ful astonishment is sometimes, both in English andLatin, 
called consternation, as if it had a tendency to throw a man 
down. It is to be observed here, and while we treat of 
the passions it must not be forgotten, that as two or more 
passions, really different, may in some respects be simi- 
lar, it is not strange, that the name of one should often be 
put figuratively for another. Instances might be given of 
the words admiration, surprise^ astonishment, and wonder^ 
used indiscriminately ; but the philosopher must endea- 
vour to distinguish as well as he can. From this licen- 
tious or indefinite use of language, disputes frequently 
arise, where there is no real difference of opinion. 

299. Admiration, says Plato, is the mother of wis- 
dom, but, when excessive or misplaced, becomes folly. 
The young and inexperienced are most liable to it, and 
to them it is, unless directed to mean or improper ob- 
jects, peculiarly beneficial : for curiosity prompts them 
to search for what is new, and admiration fixes their 
view upon it, till it be imprinted upon the memory. 



136 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

Our admiration of things great or good heightens the 
pleasure we take in them ; and the astonishment, that 
arises, when any thing uncommonly evil attracts our 
notice, serves to quicken disgust, and preserve us from 
contagion. Horace considers what the Greeks called 
£§*v(j.zTiXi nil admirari, an exemption from admiration, 
as a security against those turbulent emotions that in- 
terrupt the happiness of life : but he is there speaking 
of that admiration which is bestowed upon unworthy 
objects. And in this view his doctrine is right. For 
whatever raises this passion, is apt to kindle others of 
equal or superior violence, as love, hatred, or desire ; 
and where these are improperly directed, the mind 
must be subject to perturbations incompatible with vir- 
tue, and consequently with happiness. — So much for 
the first order of passions, whereof the object is in gene- 
ral uncommonness. See \ 279. 

300. A much more copious class are those of the se- 
cond order ; which take their rise from the view of 
what is, or appears to be, good, or evil. That which is 
or appears to be good or agreeable, raises some mo- 
dification of love : that which is, or appears to be> 
evil, or disagreeable, excites one form or other of hatred. 
Now a thing may seem to be good, either in itself sim- 
ply, or both in itself and also with a reference to us : 
and that which, with respect to us as well as in itself> ap- 
pears to be good, may seem fit, or in a condition, either 
to do us good, or to receive good from us. In like manner, 
a thing may seem to be evil, in itself simply, or both in 
itself and also with a reference to us: and that which, with 
respect to us as well as in itself, appears to be evil, may 
seem fit, either to do us evil, or to receive evil fromus. From 
good and evil things thus arranged rise three forms of love f 
and of its opposite, hatred: I shall call them, esteem, and 
contempt ; benevolence and malevolence ; complacency and 
dislike. Esteem, benevolence, and complacency, may 
be so blended, as that one and the same being shall be 
the object of all the three ; and this happens when that 
being appears good in itself, fit to do us good, and fit to 
receive good from us. In like manner, contempt, ma- 
levolence, and dislike, may unite so as to form one com* 



Ch.II.5. MORAL SCIENCE. 137 

plex passion ; as when one and the same object appears 
at once evil in itself, fit to do us evil, and fit to receive 
evil from us. Thus the passions in question may coa- 
lesce : but it is proper to analyse, and consider them se- 
parately. 

301. That love, which we bear to a person whom we 
consider as a good character merely;- without taking in- 
to the account his fitness either to do us good or to re- 
ceive good from us, may be called esteem. We esteem 
strangers the moment we form a favourable opinion of 
their merit ; and those good men, whom we never saw 
or can see, and of whom we know nothing but by report : 
and this emotion (for passion it can hardly be called) in- 
clines us to speak of them with affection and praise, and 
endeavour to make others think of them as we do. If 
there be any thing great, or uncommonly good in such per- 
sons, admiration will heighten our esteem into respect 
and reverence. Things, as well as persons, are some- 
times said to be the objects of esteem : we say, of a good 
book or a good picture, that it is well esteemed : but this 
use of the word is figurative* To esteem, and to value? 
are different things. However much we may value a 
good horse, a convenient house, or a fine garden, we can 
hardly be said to esteem them. 

302. Mind, therefore, and rationality seem necessary 
to draw forth the affection we speak of. Nor are these 
alone sufficient. An acute understanding employed in 
sophistry, a great genius exerting itself in pursuits eU 
ther criminal or trifling, may raise our wonder, perhaps 
our astonishment, but has no more claim to our esteem, 
than the juggler, rope-dancer, or dextrous player at 
cards. In short, esteem implies moral approbation ; and 
probity, industry, and other moral virtues, are the ob- 
jects of it. This being the case, it follows, that we our- 
selves, as moral beings, may either rise or sink in our 
own esteem. Self-esteem, kept within due bounds, and 
warranted by the approbation of conscience, would be a 
rational as well as delightful emotion. But to keep it 
within due bounds is difficult and rare ; for where is the 
man, who has a just sense, neither too high nor too low, 
of his own merit ? 

N 









138 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

303. When we think too highly of ourselves, which we 
are very apt to do, self-esteem degenerates into the evil 
passions of vanity, pride, arrogance, and insolence. These, 
though nearly allied, are not the same. Pride and vani- 
ty may be distinguished. The proud man is sufficiently 
happy in the consciousness of his own supposed dignity ; 
the vain man is not happy, unless he believes that others 
admire him. Hence the former is reserved and sullen, 
the latter ostentatious and affable. Pride implies some- 
thing, and generally not a little, of ill-nature ; vaniiy is 
often officiously obliging. The vain man laughs, and is 
himself a ludicrous animal ; the proud man is a hateful 
being, and unwilling even to smile ; 

" Or if he smile, it is in such a sort, 
" As if he scorned to smile at any thing," 
It is generally true, that, in proportion as a man behaves 
proudly towards those whom he thinks beneath him, he 
is fawning and servile with respecl to those whose supe- 
riority he feels himself constrained to acknowledge : 
Swift observes that the posture of cli rnbing is pretty 
much the same with that of crawling. Pride and vanity, 
though in some things inconsistent, have been known to 
meet in the same character ; but v he may be vain who is 
not proud ; and some men are too proud to be vain. The 
language of the former would be, admire me, and I will 
love you dearly ; that of the latter, we value not your 
good opinion, and will give ourselves no trouble to ob- 
tain it. 

304. Pride, arrogance, and insolence, may perhaps 
be thus distinguished. Pride, though no degree of it is 
excusable, may be so restrained by good-breeding, as 
not to do injury, or give great offence to others : arro- 
gance is always offensive, because in demanding more 
than its due (for this meaning appears in the etymo- 
logy of the word) it manifests a petulant and injurious 
disposition, that disdains to be controlled by good- 
breeding or any other restraint. Insolence is pride co- 
operating with arrogance and ill-nature, in gratifying 
itself by insulting others : a temper utterly detestable, 
and such as no elevation of rank, of wealth, or of ge- 
nius, can render pardonable in any person : nay, let a 
man's superiority be what you please, this alone is suf- 



Ch. II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE* 139 

ficient to cancel all his merit. And true it is, that they 
who are really distinguished by rank or by genius, are 
not apt to be either insolent or arrogant ; and, if not 
wholly exempt from pride, will, however, be careful 
to conceal it ; which it is very much their interest to do. 
Of all writers the petty verbal critic is, I think, the 
most addicted to these enormities : Newton's meekness 
and modesty were as exemplary, as his genius was tran- 
scendent. 

305. Pride is an artificial passion : in early life, un- 
less enjoined by precept, or recommended by example, 
it seldom appears. The psalmist, speaking of his ex- 
emption from haughtiness, compares himself to a young 
child : and the humble docility of little children is, in 
the New Testament, represented as a necessary prepa- 
rative to the reception of christian faith. But there is a 
sort of pride, . from which a weak and inexperienced 
mind may be in danger, which refuses advice and in* 
strucYion, from an opinion that they are unnecessary : it 
is sometimes called self-conceit. This mental disease, at 
first infused by the fondness and flattery of parents, 
perhaps, or of inferiors, gives rise to innumerable dis- 
appointments and ridiculous undertakings ; and, if years 
and experience do not speedily remove it, hardens into 
incurable folly. 

306. Contempt seems to stand in opposition to esteem, 
and arises from our considering an object as insignifi- 
cant or destitute of merit. But it is not every sort of 
insignificance that draws forth contempt: things of no 
value we are apt to overlook, or attend to with indif- 
ference : and indifference and neglect are no passions. 
When a thing is of such a nature as gives us reason to 
expect to find good in it, we despise it, if we find none* 
An insignificant man, for example, is always the object 
of contempt, unless he be known to labour under some 
infirmity, which prevents his exerting himself to any 
pood purpose. In those who pretend to knowledge, or 
have had the means of acquiring it, ignorance is con- 
temptible : but ignorance in a child, in a savage, or in any 
person who neither pretends to knowledge, nor has ever 
had the means of it in his power, is not contemptible at 
all, but pitiable. 



140 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

307. In like manner, a child's first attempts in draw- 
ing or writing, however rude, are not to be contemned : 
but were a fond father to display such things as wonder- 
fully ingenious, we should despise both the work and him 
who praises it : yet the child, who made it, we should 
not despise, unless he partook of his father's vanity ; 
because from a child nothing better is to be expected. 
In short, what we despise, we always in some degree 
disapprove ; and the object of disapprobation, as of es- 
teem, (see $ 302) is a rational being. For I think we 
cannot be properly said to disapprove of an inconvenient 
house, or untraceable horse, nor consequently to despise 
either, even as we cannot be said to esteem their oppo- 
sites ; but the conceited architect who built the one* 
and the knavish jockey who would cheat us in the other, 
we may have good reason both to disapprove and to 
despise. 

303. A man habitually contemptuous is an unamiable 
character, because he is generally both malevolent and 
proud ; but it does not follow, that contempt is an evil 
or useless passion, or a blemish in the human constitution* 
For the fear of incurring it (and who would not be 
afraid of being despised !) proves a good preservative 
from pride, vanity, rashness, and other follies, as well 
as a powerful incentive to the acquisition of those talents 
and virtues which the world has reason to expect from 
us, and for which, if we acquire them, it will esteem us. 
It is scarce necessary to add, that esteem and Contempt 
are more or less to be regard ed> according to the wisdom 
and goodness of him who esteems and contemns. To 
have the esteem of fools, can gratify none but fools ; to 
be despised by such, can never dishearten a man of spi- 
rit. To be praised for good qualities which we are con- 
scious that we do not possess, is, to a generous mind, not 
pleasing but mortifying ; to be despised or blamed by an 
incompetent or uncandid judge, may give a momentary 
pain, but ought not to make us unhappy. The lady, who 
paints her face to make us admire her complexion*, and 
the fop, who tells lies to raise our opinion of his wit or 

* Face painting, where it is fashionable and avowed 
deceives nobody. 



Ch.II.5. MORAL SCIENCE. 141 

valour, are among the most despicable characters in hu- 
man shape. .Disdain and seorn are terms denoting dif- 
ferent forms or degrees of contempt. To distinguish 
them with precision, and unexceptionable would ,per- 
haps be difficult, and is not necessary ; those words be- 
ing in general well enough understood. 

309. The opposite of pride is humility ; which con- 
sists in a just sense of our own imperfections, inclining 
us to bear with, and pity those of others — a most amia- 
ble disposition in the sight of both God and man — but 
which, as it settles and soothes the mind, and occasions 
little or no commotion in the bodily frame, is to be called 
not a passion, but a virtue. And a virtue it is of the 
most essential importance to happiness : indeed, with- 
out it, there can be no virtue, in the christian sense of the 
word. Proud men are continually beset with affronts, 
real or imaginary, and harassed with anger, indigna- 
tion, revenge, and other pernicious and painful emo- 
tions, from which the humble are entirely free. The 
lowly mind is considerate and recollected, benevolent 
and pious, at peace with itself and with all the world ; 
and is generally accompanied with a simplicity of man- 
ners, a serenity of countenance, a gentleness of speech, 
and a sweetness of voice, which recommend one to the 
love of good men, and to respect even from the thought- 
less. Good breeding, which all men who understand 
their own interest, are ambitious to acquire, always as- 
sumes the look and the language of humility : a proof, 
that it is universally pleasing ; as ostentation and pride 
are, to the same extent, and in the same degree, offen- 
sive. 

310. There is in some minds a timorous diffidence/ 
which, making them judge too harshly or too meanly of 
themselves, depresses them with melancholy thoughts, 
that disqualify them equally for happiness and for the 
business of life. This cannot be called a fault, but it is 
a dangerous infirmity ; and for the most part owing to 
disorder of body as well as discomposure of mind. Of 
our virtue, as it must appear to a being of infinite per- 
fection, we cannot think too meanly ; and of our abili- 
ties, as compared with those of other men, we should al- 

N 2 






142 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

ways speak and think modestly* But we shall do well to 
guard against unreasonable dejection. And this in all 
ordinary cases we may do, by entertaining right notions 
of the divine goodness and mercy ; judging with can- 
dour of ourselves as well as of others ; cultivating ha- 
bit s of activity, cheerfulness, and social intercourse; im- 
proving our talents and faculties to the utmost of our 
power ; and never engaging in enterprises above our 
strength, or in schemes that seem likely to expose us 
to the tyranny of unruly passion. 

Bill So much for esteem and contempt, and the pas- 
sions allied to them. They are all different modifications 
of love and hatred: and all or most of them seem to arise 
from our considering things or persons as simply, and in 
themselves, good or evil. The next class of passions are 
those which arise in us when we consider objects as good 
or evil not only in themselves, but also with a peculiar re- 
ference to us. If a thing, or rather a person, seem fit to 
receive good from us, we regard it with that sort of love 
which is termed benevolence ; if fit to receive evil from us, 
our hatred to it we may call, till we get a more proper 
name, malevolence: if a thing or a person give us pleasure, 
or seem fit to do us govd y we regard it with complacency or 
delight; if fit to do us evil, or deprive us of pleasure, with 
displacency, or, to use a more common word, with dislike. 

312. Benevolence and esteem, though often united, are 
not the same. A man is benevolent to his new-born in- 
fant, whom he cannot be said to esteem ; and to a poor 
profligate, whom it may be impossible for him not to des- 
pise. Nor are malevolence and contempt the same, 
though they also go often together ; our hatred of a pow- 
erful adversary, though blended with malevolence, may 
be without the least mixture of contempt; nay, if he have 
great abilities, may be consistent with admiration. Es- 
teem and complacency must, in like manner, be distin- 
guished ; though frequently, as when we converse with a 
friend, they have one and the same person for their object; 
for we have complacency in, that is, we receive pleasure 
from, things inanimate, as a house, a garden, a book, a 
picture, none of which is, properly speaking, the ohjecl; 
of our esteem. Contempt and dislike must also be dis- 



Ch. II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE. 143 

tinguished ; for that which we do not despise, may be fit 
to do us evil, as a highwayman, a serpent, a storm, &c. 

313. As benevolence prompts us to promote, or at 
least to wish, the happiness of others, its object must be, 
not only a percipient being, but a being who is capable 
of deriving happiness or comfort from us : complacency, 
as already observed, may have for its object, not only 
percipient, but even inanimate beings. These two pas- 
sions must, therefore, be yet further distinguished. 
Good men delight, or have complacency, nay may be 
said even to rejoice in God : indeed the contemplation of 
his adorable nature yields the highest and most lasting 
felicity whereof rational minds are capable. But we 
cannot be said to be benevolent towards God ; because 
our goodness extends not to him, he being in and of 
himself, eternally and infinitely happy. Further still : 
the object of our complacency must always be, or seem 
to be, agreeable ; but the object of our benevolence may 
be neither agreeable nor good ; it is enough if it have a 
capacity of being made so. A good man takes no de- 
light in the wicked ; but he wishes them well, and en- 
deavours, if he can, to reform them. 

314. The passion that rises within us towards those 
percipient beings who seem fit to receive evil from us, I 
called malevolence, as being, according to etymology at 
least, the opposite of benevolence. But the term is not 
proper. An undutiful child may, to the most affectionate 
parent, seem a very proper object of correction : but it 
would be an abuse of words to say, that such a parent 
is malevolent towards his child. To a good magistrate 
malefactors may seem fit to receive, from the laws of 
their country, as administered by him, even capital pun- 
ishment : but there is no malevolence in a good magis- 
trate, nor is the law capable of it: and sanguinary laws 
are enacted from a principle, not of ill-will to individuals 
but of love to the community. To be indifferent to the 
welfare of those who are fit to receive good from us, 
would manifest a savage disposition, which might be 
considered as the opposite of benevolence ; but indiffer- 
ence is not a passion. The passions, that counteract this 
amiable affection, by disposing men to do no good, but 



144 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

positive evil to others, will be hereafter taken notice of, 
under the names of resentment, anger, revenge, &c. 

315. Dr. Watts seems to think, that benevolence to 
our equals may be called friendships and to our inferiors 
mercy* And it is true that we are always the friends of 
those towards whom we are benevolent ; and that in po- 
pular language a good man may be said to be merciful to 
his beast. But, in order to constitute what is commonly 
called friendship, acquaintance, esteem, and complacen- 
cy are necessary, as well as benevolence ; whereas we 
may, and indeed ought to exercise benevolence towards 
strangers, criminals, and even enemies ; that is, towards 
those in whom we take no delight and repose no trust, 
and with whom we have but a slight acquaintance, or 
none at all. And the objecl of, what is properly called 
mercy, is a person liable to punishment : mercy is what 
we all pray for from God ; and it is mercy which a con- 
demned malefactor implores from his sovereign. It may 
be added, with respect to friendship, that, though the pro- 
verb says, it either finds men equal or makes them so, 
equality of condition, or of talents, is by no means essen- 
tial to it. For a in aster and his servant, a peer and a 
commoner, a sovereign and his subject, an unlettered 
man and a philosopher, may be affectionate and faithful 
friends to each other : and if a man were to forsake his 
friends on being promoted to a rank above them, the 
world would censure his conduct as equally ungenerous 
and unnatural. 

316. Benevolence towards the brute creation has, I 
think, no other name than humanity or tender-heartedness y 
nor needs any other ; for he, who is cruel to his beast, 
would be so to his servant or neighbour, if he durst. 
Useful and inoffensive animals have a claim to our ten- 
derness : and it is honourable to our nature to befriend 
them ; by exposing them to no unnecessary hardship, 
making their lives as comfortable as we can, and, if we 
must destroy them, putting an end to their pain in an in- 
stant. But more of this hereafter — Some people con- 
tract a fondness for certain animals, as horses, and dogs, 
which are indeed furnished by nature with the means of 
recommending themselves to us in various ways : some 



Oiap. II. 5. MORALSGIENCE. 145 

less excusably, for cats, parrots, monkeys, &c. When 
this sort of fondness becomes immoderate, it is some- 
thing worse than folly, and seldom fails to withdraw our 
affections from our brethren of mankind, as well as to 
reconcile us to habits of idleness and nastiness. Low 
company, of whatever kind, debases our nature in pro- 
portion as we become attached to it. 

317. Fondness is founded in complacency. It par- 
takes also of benevolence, but often counteracts it: as 
when it imprisons for life that playful, beautiful, and 
harmless creature, a singing bird ; mangles the ears of 
a dog, or the tail of a horse ; pampers a lap-dog, so as 
to make him more helpless and useless than nature 
made him ; and, which is infinitely more cruel, cor- 
rupts a child by indulgence and flattery* These are me- 
lancholy proofs of the weakness of human reason. But 
there is, in some of our best affections, a tenderness of 
love, which has also obtained the name of fondness, and 
which, so far from being an infirmity, may be justly 
accounted a virtue, being highly natural, amiable, and 
beneficial. Such is that fondness, which unites itself 
with the several forms of natural affection, whereby 
parents and children, brothers and sisters, and other 
near relations, are mutually attached to, and delighted 
with, one another. These parental, conjugal, filial, and 
fraternal charities not only humanize the heart of man, 
and give a peculiar and exquisite relish to all the com- 
forts of domestic life, but also cherish that elevating 
principle, a sense of honour, which heightens the grace- 
fulness, and adds to the stability, even of virtue itself. 

318. The passion opposite to complacency is displa- 
cency or dislike. It has for its object that which seems 
fit to do evil, or take away good ; that, in a word, which 
is disagreeable ; and, according to the degree of vio- 
lence wherewith it operates, assumes different names, as 
disgust, loathing, abhorrence, abomination, detestation. We 
dislike an ill-natured countenance ; we are disgusted with 
the conversation of a vain-glorious fool ; we loath or 
nauseate food when we are sick : we abhor an unjust or 
ungenerous action : we abominate the impious rites of 
pagan superstition ; we detest such characters as Tiberi- 






146 



ELEMENTS OF 



Part I. 



us, Herod, Caligula, Nero. By these examples I do 
not mean to ascertain the exact signification of the 
words ; which perhaps could not be easily done ; as 
people, in the choice of such words, may be determined 
by their present feelings, or merely by the habit of 
using one word more than another: but I give these 
examples, to show that the words above-mentioned 
mean, not different passions, but rather different degrees 
of the same passion. Words expressive of very keen 
dislike ought not to be employed on ordinary occasions. 
In general the frequent use of hyperbolical expressions, 
though some people affect them, is a sign of levity or in- 
temperaance of mind. 

319. We are sometimes conscious of strong dislike 
which we can hardly account for, and which, to others, 
and to ourselves, too perhaps, may appear capricious 
or even ridiculous. This has been called antipathy^ 
Most people feel it on seeing a crawling toad or serpent ; 
and such antipathy is useful and therefore reasonable, be- 
cause it contributes to our safety : but whether it be ow- 
ing to constitution or to acquired habit, I cannot say ; as 
I know not whether a child, previously to advice or ex- 
ample, would be conscious of it. To certain kinds of 
food, as pork and cheese, some people have an antipathy ; 
which maybe the effect of unpleasing associations; or per- 
haps it may be constitutional ; for I have heard of those 
who would grow sick if cheese were in the room, though 
they did not see it. I know men both healthy and strong, 
who are uneasy when they touch velvet, or see another 
handling a piece of cork. And I remember, that, in my 
younger years, if my hands happened to be cold, I could 
not, without uneasiness, handle paper, or hear it rustle, 
or even hear its name mentioned. What could give rise 
to this, I know not ; but I am sure there was no affecta- 
tion in the case. 

320. Of this papyrophobia I need not inform the reader 
that I was cured long ago. And I doubt not that such 
unaccountable infirmities might be in many, perhaps in 
most cases, got the better of: which, when it can be 
done, ought not to be neglected ; as every thing is a 
source of inconvenience, which gives one the appearance 



Ok II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE. 14r 

of singularity, or makes one unnecessarily dependent on 
outward circumstances. Persons? however, there are, 
who from an affectation of extreme delicacy are at pains 
to multiply their antipathies and other singularities ; to 
the no small molestation of themselves as well as others. 
Such people will scream at the sight of a spider, a cater- 
pillar^ mouse, or even a frog : and if at table you be con- 
veying salt to your plate with a careless or trembling 
hand, will sweat with apprehension, lest you let it fall, 
and so bring mischief, as they are willing to believe, upon 
one or other of the company. But this last example sa- 
vours more of superstition than of false delicacy. All 
such fooleries are quite inconsistent with that manly 
simplicity of manners, which is so honourable to the ra- 
tional character. 

321. From the different forms of love and hatred, 
complacency and dislike, which I have been endeavour- 
ing to analyse, a third class of passions derive their ori- 
gin, which vary in their feelings and names, according 
as their objecls vary with respect to us. If that, which 
seems fit to do us good, be so far in our power that we 
may consider it as attainable, it excites desire ; if proba- 
bly attainable, hope ; if actually obtained, joy ; and the 
person who helps us to obtain it is the object of our gra- 
titude. If that, which seems fit to do us harm, may pos- 
sibly come upon us, it excites what may be called aver- 
sion ; if it may probably come upon us, fear ; if ft be ac- 
tually come upon us, sorrow or grief : and if any of our 
fellow men has been instrumental in bringing it upon us, 
that person is the object of our anger. On these pairs of 
opposite passions, desire and aversion, hope and fear, joy 
and sorrow, gratitude and anger, I shall make a few 
remarks, and so conclude this part of the subjecl. 

322. Desire and Aversion. Things may seem desirable, 
in the popular sense of that epithet, which are not attain- 
able : such is an affluent fortune, to those who are sure 
they can never have it : and such is health, to him who 
knows that he is dying of a consumption. But in general, 
it is true of those things which draw forth the aclive 
passion of desire, that they seem to be within the reach of 
the person who wishes to have them. Few people can be 



148 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

said to desire to fly, or to desire to be the governors of 
kingdoms; and to those, who have aspired to crowns and 
sceptres, the attainment of such things must have appear- 
ed at least possible. Desire is a restless passion : and if 
every sort of excellence, whether attainable or unattaina- 
ble, were to raise it, there would be no end of disappoint- 
ments, and human life would be completely wretched. 
This passion, as it arises from the view of something 
agreeable, is partly a pleasureable feeling ; and it is also 
painful, and sometimes intensely so, because it implies a 
consciousness of our wanting something, without which 
we think we are not so happy as we should be if we had it. 

323. Nothing more discomposes the mind than inor- 
dinate desire, or more effectually disqualifies it for pru- 
dent exertion. It is a torment in itself, and it exposes to 
disappointment : and the anguish of disappointment is in 
proportion to the violence of desire. And therefore 
it is of the utmost importance to our virtue and happiness, 
and indeed to our reputation as men of prudence, that we 
inure ourselves to habits of moderation in all our desires f 
in all those at least, that are liable to become extra- 
vagant, that is, in all that regard this world. To effect 
thisi we shall do well to meditate frequently on the short- 
ness of life, the uncertainty of present things, and their 
insufficiency to yield those gratifications which are expec- 
ted from them. If we are anxious to be wealthy, emi- 
nent, or great, let us attend to the fates and fortunes 
of those who have acquired renown, riches or power, and 
consider how much happier they were than other men — . 
what proportion of their happiness arose from such things 
—and whether a reasonable share of felicity might not be 
attained without them: continually bearing in mind, 
that, though happiness is not always in our power, con- 
tentment is ; and that contentment is enough. 

324. A slight degree of desire has been called propen* 
sity or inclination ; when it becomes very importunate, 
it is termed longing; and longing may grow stronger 
and stronger, till it overwhelm the mind and destroy 
the body. This may happen, not only in regard to food 
and drink and other things necessary, but also when the 



Ch. II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE. I4f 

object of desire may seem to many to be essential nei- 
ther to life nor to happiness. Men have lived long and 
comfortably at a great distance from the place of their 
birth, the neighbouroood of which is surely no necessa- 
ry of life : yet there have been men who sickened and 
died of an excessive longing to revisit their native land. 
To this malady the Swiss were formerly so subject, that 
they gave it a name signifying the disease of the country : 
the Scots too have suffered from it : and Homer makes 
Minerva say, of the wandering Ulysses, that to enjoy the 
happiness of again seeing the smoke ascend from his 
native Ithaca* he would willingly die. 

325. Some of our desires take different names, ac- 
cording as their objects differ. To desire the good that 
others possess may be termed covetousness ; as in the 
tenth law of the decalogue, where it is very emphatical- 
ly prohibited : as in the New Testament it is not only pro- 
hibited but branded with the name of idolatry, and decla- 
red to be a sin that excludes from heaven. Desire of 
riches has also been called covetousness. But this de- 
sire, if moderate, and if it pursue its obje£i without in- 
jury to any person, cannot be called criminal ; nay, if it 
engage in the pursuit, in order to obtain the means of 
doing good, it is very commendable, and gives rise to 
industry, temperance, and ottier virtues equally benefici- 
al to individuals and to society. Desire of the pleasures 
of sense is termed sensuality ; especially when it becomes 
habitual, and excludes or weakens the more generous 
principles of acYion : and then it is a disease of the most 
debasing nature, and reduces man to the condition of a 
beast. Temperance, a hardy way of life, and a superi- 
ority to the fascinations of luxury, are by ail moralists re- 
commended, as friendly to our moral improvement, and 
highly honourable to man as a rational being. 

326. The desire of honour and power has obtained the 
name of ambition. It is very apt> as Cicero observes, to 
spring up in noble minds : and it may, if properly regula- 
ted, produce good ; but when in any degree immoderate 
(as it seldom fails to be, when it has been in any great 
degree successful) it is almost impossible to restrain it 
within the proper limits. Dreadful are the miseries 

O 



150 E L E M ENTS OF Part I. 

which unbridled ambuion has introduced into the world ; 
as may be seen in the histories of all nations : history, 
indeed, contains little more than the acts of ambitious 
ifien and their consequences ; and the very word ambition 
conveys to us some idea of evil. And yet the love of 
power, cr a desire of superiority, is natural to man, and 
so far from being in itself censurable, that a total want of 
k is blamed or pitied as mean-spiritedness. The only 
principles that can control ambition, so as to render it 
at once innocent and beneficial, are benevolence and the 
love of justice ; principles so nearly allied, that the one 
cannot exist without the other. Cicero has some good 
remarks on this subject, in the eighth chapter of his first 
book, Be officiis. 

327. To desire money for its own sake, and in order to 
hoard it up, is avarke — an unnatural passion, that disgra- 
ces and entirely debases the soul, from which it seldom 
fails to eradicate every generous principle and kind affec- 
tion* It impairs the understanding also, and contracts 
the genius. To this vile passion Horace scruples not to 
ascribe the inferiority of the Roman literature to the 
Greek ; and Longinus imputes the decay of eloquence in 
his time to the same cause. Against avarice the ridicule 
of the comic muse has been pointed, and the scourge of 
satire brandished, in every age ; and by no writer more 
successfully than by Horace. Indeed we should be 
tempted to think, that he recurs rather too frequently to 
this topic, if we did not recollect, that, in the decline of the 
republic, the Romans, and some of the most splendid 
characters among them too, were beyond measure addic- 
ted to the hoarding up of money. 

328. Many vices bring their punishment along with 
them, and none more conspicuously than avarice. The 
more it is indulged, and the more it has been successful, 
the more miserable it makes the poor wretch that is en- 
slaved to it; to whom in our language, with an allusion 
tio doubt to this circumstance, the appellation of miser has 
long been appropriated. Even when misers, at the close 
of life, have applied their accumulations to a charitable 
purpose, the erection of hospitals, for example, they have 
Dot been, able to rescue their memory from contempt andl 



Gh.II-5. MORAL SCIENCE. 151 

detestation. For the world knows well, that there is no 
liberality in giving away what one can no longer keep— . 
no virtue in rearing monuments to one's own vanity — and 
neither good nature nor common honesty, in robbing so- 
ciety of the benefits that arise from commercial inter- 
course and a free circulation of wealth, or in adopting a 
plan of life which one cannot persist in without harden- 
ing one's heart against the deserving and the poor. 

329. The desire of having that which others also de- 
sire, gives rise to rivahhip : and a desire to be equal or 
superior to others, is emulation. Between rival candi- 
dates for the same object, there ought to be no enmity: 
and between those who are ambitious to equal or excel 
one another, there ought to be no envy. Enmity and en- 
vy, in cases of this nature, are tnarks of a little mind* 
And nothing gives a more favourable opinion of a man's 
candour and temper, than to live on good terms with* 
those whom he considers as his antagonists in the careeF 
of honour, or in the pursuit of that j which, if he obtain, 
his rivals must lose. We are to consider those as ouc 
enemies (says Tully, adopting a sentiment of Plato) who 
carry arms against us, not those who aspire to the 
same posts of honour which we wish to gain : imitating 
the moderation of Africanus and Metellus, between 
whom there was rivalship, but no bitterness. 

330. Emulation, when without any mixture of malice 
or envy, is a noble principle of action, and -a powerful 
incitement to the acquisition of excellence. Prudent 
parents and teachers are at pains to cherish it in young 
persons, and find that, when properly directed, it has bet- 
ter effects than the fear of punishment or the hope of re- 
ward. There ire writers, who, viewing human nature 
in an unfavourable light, have thought fit to affirm, that 
emulation cannot be without envy, and that therefore it is 
dangerous to encourage it in schools or families. But 
this is a mistake. These two passions differ as widely as 
candour differs from cunning, or a reasonable regard to 
ourselves from ill-will to our neighbour. Emulation 
wishes to raise itself without pulling others down, that is, 
without doing or wishing them any injury : and no prin- 
ciple of acYion is in itself more commendable, or more 



152 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

useful to others, as an example to rouse them to honest 
industry : there is great generosity in such emulation ; 
xmd the man who exerts himself in it, is making contin- 
ual advances in virtue ; because he is every moment ac- 
quiring more and more the command of his own spirit. 

331. Envy is the reverse of all this. The envious man 
wishes to be superior, not by raising himself, but, as al- 
ready observed, by pulling others down ; and their pros- 
perity, nay even their genius and their virtue, are to him 
matter not of joy, but of anguish : which is part of the 
character we ascribe to the devil. The envious man sets 
an example of selfishness, rancour, pride, and almost 

-every other perversity incident to a despicable mind. 
Envy is a proof, not only of malignity, but of incapacity 
also. Hence it is, that no man is willing to acknowledge 
himself liable to this detestable passion; for that would 
be to provoke and acquiesce in his own disgrace. One 
exception to this remark I have indeed met with, and one 
only. I formerly knew a person, who would own that he 
was envious, and that it tormented him even to hear his 
best friends praised, or to see them treated with any un- 
common degree of complaisance. But this was not the 
only foolish singularity which that person affected, in or- 
der to make himself remarkable. 

332. The exertions of generous emulation are highly 
delightful > for they rouse the soul, they amuse it> and 
they improve it. But Horace well observes that the 
most cruel tyrants have never devised a torment greater 
than envy. Surely, it must be of infinite importance, 
that we guard against a passion so productive of folly, 
wickedness, and misery. And caution is the more ne- 
cessary here, because emulation, though, as we have seen, 
entirely different from envy, is very apt, through the 
weakness of our nature, to degenerate into it. Let then 
the man, who thinks he is actuated by generous emula- 
tion only, and wishes to know whether there be any thing 
of envy in the case, examine his own heart, and ask him- 
self, whether his friends, on becoming, though in an ho- 
nourable way, his competitors, have less of his affection 
than they had before ; whether he be gratified with hear- 
ing them depreciated ; whether he would wish their merit 



Chap. II. 5, MORAL SCIENCE. 153 

less, that he might the more easily equal or excel them 5 
and whether he would have a more sincere regard for 
them, if the world were to acknowledge him their superi- 
or. If his heart answer all or any of these questions in 
the affirmative, it is time to look out for a cure ; for the 
symptoms of that vile distemper, <mvy, are but too ap- 
parent. 

333. If that, which seems fit to do us evil, may pos- 
sibly come upon us, it raises what may be called aver* 
sion; a term which, in its etymology, implies turning 
away from : dislike is a word of similar import, though 
perhaps not so emphatical. On dislike, as opposed to 
complacency, I made a remark or two already, and 
have little more to say about it. Aversion, or active dis- 
like, exerts itself with more or less energy, according 
to the magnitude of the evil, or rather according as we 
siem to be more or less in danger from it. We dislike, 
nay we may detest, the character of a person who died 
two thousand years ago, Nero for example ; but, be- 
cause we have no reason to apprehend evil from it, I 
know not whether it would be strictly proper to say, 
that we have an aversion to Nero's chara&er. Yet, if I 
were desired to write the history of Nero, I might say 
with propriety, that I have an aversion to the subject : 
for, though Nero himself can do me no harm, it might 
seriously hurt me, to employ much time in thinking of 
matters so disagreeable. Aversion, in short, seems to 
point at some evil which may come upon us ; even as 
its opposite, desire, has for its object a good that is not 
altogether beyond our reach, 

334. Hope and fear. These two passions are more rest- 
less and active than the preceding pair ; as they view 
good awd evil in a nearer situation. If the absent good is 
not only possible to be attained, but also probably attaina- 
ble, it quickens desire into hope : if the absent evil not 
only may come upon us, but probably will, it changes 
simple aversion into fear. In this country, whatever 
aversion we may have to a plague of locusts, we can 
hardly be said to fear it, because, if we may judge of th? 
future by the past, there is no probability of our being 
exposed to such a visitation : and, in like manner, we 

O 2 



154 ELEMENTS OF Parti, 

cannot hope that our fields will yield a hundred timea 
the grain we sow in them ; because, though such a thing 
may be possible elsewhere, we have no reason to think 
it ever happened here, or will happen. The purchaser 
of a lottery-ticket wishes, no doubt, to gain the first 
prize : but he is a fool if he hope for it, the probabilities^ 
against him being so very great. 

335. Things in our power cannot properly be called 
the objects of hope and fear. For if the good which we 
desire be within our reach, we possess ourselves of it, 
*and so hope is extinguished ; and of the evils, from 
which we have it in our power at any time to escape, it is 
«ur own fault if we be afraid. Yet in the possession of 
.good, there may be, and generally is, the fear of losing it, 
and the hope of preserving it ; and, while we suffer evil, 
we may hope its removal, and fear its continuance. In 
fact, in every circumstance of life, hope and fear may be 
•aid to be present with us, as long* at least, as we are in- 
telligent and aclive beings : for these passions are the 
great springs to acYion, and without them the mind would 
be, in a state of torpor, hardly consistent with rationality. 
Even in the hour of death, man's hopes and fears do not 
forsake him : the approbation of his own mind cherishes 
the most transporting hope of divine favour ; as an evil 
conscience would awaken fear so intensely tormenting, 
that nothing short of hell could exceed it» These pas- 
sions are in other respecls beneficial. In prosperity we 
ought to fear, lest we should become high-minded ; and 
in adversity hope is a good defence against trouble. 
Hope in adversity is favourable to happiness: fear in 
prosperity is friendly to virtue. 

336. Hope, with little or no fear, has been called 
confidence, or security : a temper of mind, which it is 
unsafe to indulge, as it embitters disappointment, to 
which, in a world so changeable as this, we are always 
more or less liable. Sometimes, however, in cases of 
great difficulty and danger, this passion has animated 
-men to extraordinary efforts, and proved successful, where 
timidity, or even prudent circumspection, would have 
had nothing to expecl but disaster. But these are cases 
which in common life rarely occur* Even in war, this 



Ch. II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE. 155 

sort of enthusiasm is at best but a desperate expedient : 
it may have gained victories, but it has also been pro- 
ductive of defeat. How much more respectable was 
Fabius Maximus in that caution which broke the power 
of Hannibal, than Pompey in that ostentatious confidence, 
which preceded and partly occasioned his ignominious 
overthrow at Pharsalia ! 

337. Fear, without any mixture of hope, is despair; 
a passion, which it is misery to feel, and impiety to en- 
tertain. Despair implies inattention to the vicissitude 
of human affairs, which often, and sometimes rapidly, 
make a transition from adverse to prosperous ; and 
which, at any rate, are of so mixed a nature, that in the 
deepest gloom they are seldom without rays of comfort, 
and, in the greatest brightness, not entirely free from 
clouds of apprehension. It implies further, an audaci- 
ous and most unwarrantable distrust of both the wis- 
dom and the goodness of God ; w T ho never chastises, 
but in order to reform, and who, if it is not our own 
fault, will undoubtedly make present evil terminate in 
future good* A meek and humble spirit is not in dan- 
ger from this hideous passion. Despair arises from pride 
and hardness of4keart — is generally preceded by long 
perseverance in ^vil habits — and frequently ends in 
phrensy and self-destruclion. 

338. How much then is it our interest, as well as 
duty, to cultivate benevolence and piety* humility and 
cheerfulness, temperance and patience ! These are the 
sunshine of the mind ; and as effectually exclude the 
demons of despair, as the radiance of the morning drives 
the birds of night to their abodes of darkness. Little 
hope, with a great mixture of fear, is termed despondence ; 
which, as it enervates the soul, ought to be avoided ; 
and may be, if we are moderate in our expectations and 
desires— not hasty to engage in what is like to be very 
interesting — and always prepared to submit without a 
murmur, to the will of providence. Let hope be encou- 
raged, but not to excess. When rational and moderate, 
it is an excellent auxiliary in surmounting the difficul- 
ties of life : when in any degree extravagant* it leads to 
folly and misery. 



156 



ELEMENTS OF 



Part I. 



339. Fear should not rise higher, than to make us atten* 
tive and cautious : when it gains an ascendency in the 
mind, it becomes an insupportable tyranny, and renders 
life a burden. The object of fear is evil ; and to be exempt 
from fear, or at least not enslaved to it, gives dignity to 
our nature, and invigorates all our faculties. Yet there 
are evils which we ought to fear. Those that arise from 
ourselves, or which it is in our power to prevent, it would 
be madness to despise, and audacity not to guard against. 
External evils, which we cannot prevent, or could not 
avoid without a breach of duty, it is manly and honourable 
to bear with fortitude. Insensibility to danger is not for- 
titude, no more than the incapacity of feeling pain can be 
called patience ; and to expose ourselves unnecessarily to 
evil, is worse than folly, and very blameable presumption : 
it is commonly called foolhardiness, that is, such a degree 
of hardiness or boldness, as none but fools are capable of. 

340* Courage and fortitude, though confounded in 
common language, are however distinguishable. Cou- 
rage may be a virtue or a vice, according to circumstan- 
ces ; fortitude is always a virtue : we speak of desperate 
courage, but not of desperate fortitude. A contempt or 
neglect of danger, without regard to consequences, may 
be called courage ; and this some brutes have as well as 
we : In them it is the effect of natural instinct chiefly : in 
man, it depends partly on habit, partly on strength of 
nerves, and partly on want of consideration. But forti- 
tude is the virtue of a rational and considerate mind ; it 
is indeed a virtue rather than a passion : and it is founded 
in a sense of honour and a regard to duty. There may 
be courage in fighting a duel, though that folly is more 
frequently the effect of cowardice : there may be courage 
in an a6t of piracy or robbery : but there can be no forti- 
tude in perpetrating a crime. Fortitude implies a love of 
equity and of public good : for, as Plato and Cicero ob- 
serve, courage exerted for a selfish purpose, or without a 
regard to justice, ought to be called audacity rather than 
fortitude. 

54 1. This virtue takes different names, according as it 
acts in opposition to different sorts of evil; but some of 
those names are applied with considerable latitude. With 



Ch. II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE. \5t 

respect to danger in general, fortitude may be termed 
intrepidity, with re spe 61 to the dangers of \var 9 valour; with 
respect to pain of body or distress of mind, patience; with 
respect to labour, activity ; with respect to injury, for* 
bearance; and with respecl to our condition in general, mag- 
nanimity. Fear in war, or fear that hinders a man from do- 
ing what he ought to do, is coivardice; sudden fear, with- 
out cause, is panic; habitual fear is pusillanimity ; fear of 
the labour that one ought to undergo, is laziness. Fear, 
with surprise, is terror; and violent fear, with extreme de- 
testation, is horror. Those unaccountable fears, too, are 
called horrors, which sometimes arise in the imagination 
in sleep, or in certain diseases, and produce trembling, 
sweating, shivering, and other nervous symptoms. 

342. Fortitude is very becoming in both sexes, but cou- 
rage is not so suitable to the female character : for in wo- 
men, on ordinary occasions of danger, a certain degree of 
timidity is not unseemly; because it betokens gentleness 
of disposition. Yet from those of very high rank, from 
a queen or an empress, courage, in emergencies of great 
public danger, would be expected, and the want of it bla- 
med ; we should overlook the sex, and consider the duties 
of the station. In general, however, masculine boldness in 
a woman is disagreeable ; the term virago conveys an of- 
fensive idea. The female warriors of antiquity, whether 
real or fabulous, Camilla, Thalestris, and the whole 
community of Amazons, were unamiable personages. 
But female courage, exerted in defence of a child, a hus- 
band, or a near relation, would be true fortitude, and de- 
serve the highest encomiums. 

343. The motives to fortitude are many and power- 
ful. This virtue tends greatly to the happiness of the in- 
dividual, by giving composure and presence of mind, 
and keeping the other passions in due subordination. To 
public good it is essential ; for, without it, the indepen- 
dence and liberty of nations would be impossible. It gives 
to a character that elevation, which poets, orators, and 
historians have, in all ages, vied with one another to cele- 
brate. Nothing so effectually inspires it, as rational pie- 
ty: the fear of God is the best security against every 



158 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

other fear* A true estimate of human life — its shortness 
and uncertainty— the numberless evils and temptations 
to which by a long continuance in this world we must un- 
avoidably be exposed— ought by no means to discourage, 
or to throw any gloom on our future prospects; but 
should teach us, that many things are more formidable 
than death; and that nothing is lost, but much gained, 
when by the appointment of providence, a well-spent life 
is brought to a conclusion. 

344. Let it be considered, too, that pusillanimity and 
fearfulness can never avail us any thing. On the con* 
trary, they debase our nature, poison all our comforts, and 
make us despicable in the eyes of others ; they darken 
our reason, disconcert our schemes, enfeeble our efforts, 
extinguish our hopes, and add tenfold poignancy to all 
the evils of life. In battle, the brave soldier is in less dan- 
ger thin the coward — in less danger even of death and 
wounds, because better prepared to defend himself — in 
•far less danger of infelicity ; and has before him the ani- 
mating hope of victory and honour. So in life: the man 
of true fortitude is in less danger of disappointment than 
others are, because his understanding is clear, and his 
mind disencumbered: he is prepared to meet calamity 
without the fear of sinking under it: and he has before 
him the near prospect of another Ijfe, in which they, who 
piously bear the evils of this, will obtain a glorious re- 
'vyard. 

845. When our minds are greatly moved with the ap- 
prehension of approaching, but not certain, evil, the emO' 
tion is called anxiety or solicitude, and generally gives 
more pain, than the evil itself would give if present and 
real. It is therefore very imprudent to give way to this 
passion., which will certainly do us harm, and probably 
can do us no good. Our Saviour himself prohibits it. 
" Take no thought for to morrow/' that is (according to 
the sense in which the translators of the bible and other 
writers of their time often used the word, thought) be not 
anxious or very solicitous about to morrow: "sufficient to 
the day is the evil thereof.'* There is great benignity in 
this as in all the other precepts of our divine lawgiver. 
Da not afflict yourselves with evil which is only imagi- 



Cb. II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE. 159 

nary, and perhaps may never be realized: it is enough 
that you have evils to bear, when they are actually come 
upon you. Excessive anxiety, long indulged, becomes a 
disease worse than death. To guard against it, we have 
nothing to do but to obey this short command: trust in 
God, and hope the best. 

346. Suspicion is a painful passion, nearly allied both to 
fear and anxiety, yet different from both. We may fear, 
and may be anxious, without being suspicious of any bo- 
dy: because the evil we apprehend may be such as our 
fellow-creatures can neither prevent nor bring upon us. 
Such is the anxiety and the fear occasioned by the illness 
of a friend. But if we think the physician, from interes- 
ted motives, unwilling to cure the disorder, suspicion a- 
rises in us with respect to him. This passion, therefore, 
seems to have for its object some person, who, we think, 
is likely to prevent our attaining or possessing good, or 
tp bring- upon us some dreaded evil. Suspicion, like fear, 
may have its use on man? ©ccasions, when it serves mere- 
ly to put us on our guard; but to be habitually inclined 
to it, makes a man malevolent, timorous, and odious. 
How different is christian charity, which M is not easily 
" provoked, and thinketh no evil!" 

347. The word jealous is sometimes used in a good 
sense; as when we say of a man, that he is jealous of his 
honour; which means that he is solicitously cautious a- 
gainst dishonour. u I am jealous over you with a god- 
" ly jealousy," says St. Paul to the Corinthians ; that is, I 
am very vigilant to secure your spiritual welfare. In this 
acceptation^Va/ou.? is of similar import with zealous. Jea- 
lousy, taking the word in another sense, is the same near- 
ly with suspicion; but is somewhat more limited in its use. 
The suspicion, which one man may entertain of another's 
honesty or credit,can hardly be called jealousy ; this term 
being more commonly used to denote suspicion in love: 
as when a husband suspects his wife's fidelity, or a wife 
her husband's. This is a tormenting and furious passion, 
and has driven even generous minds into deeds of the 
most fatal extravagance. Often has it formed the sub- 
ject: of tragedy ; but no other poet describes it so forcibly 
as Shakespeare in his Othello. 



160 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

24-8. Joy and sorrow. I mentioned these as a third pair 
of opposite passions, derived from love and hatred. 
When the good we desired is actually obtained, our fear 
and hope> with respect to it, cease ; andyVy takes posses- 
sion of the heart: when that evil, which was the object of 
cwur aversion, is really come upon us, the hopes and fears 
to which it formerly gave rise, disappear, or are swallow- 
ed up> in sorrow. But if there be danger of our losing the 
good we possess, or if there be a chance of our escape 
from the present evil, hope and fear will continue to unite 
themselves with joy in the one case, and with sorrow in 
the other. And, as all worldly enjoyment is uncertain, 
and unexpected deliverances from evil sometimes happen, 
a considerate mind, even when joy is predominant, will 
not be wholly exempt from fear ; and in the deepest afflic- 
tion, a pious mind will not be without hope of deliver- 
ance, or at least of consolation. Joy and sorrow belong 
properly to the mind, pleasure and pain to the body. 
There may be bodily pain without sorrow ; as when a 
valiant soldier is wounded in gaining a victory for his 
country: there may be bodily pleasure where there is no 
joy, as in the case of a thirsty man drinking, while he 
is in great anguish of mind ; and every one knows, that 
there may be sorrow without pain of body, and joy 
without any positive bodily pleasure. 

349. Moderate joy, in Latin, gaudium, we may term 
gladness : the stoics allowed it, as already observed, to be 
not unworthy of a wise man, although in general they 
affected to be very unfriendly to the passions. Great 
joy, in Latin Ixtitia, the same philosophers condemned. 
Exultation or extravagant joy, is no doubt unseemly, at 
least on ordinary occasions ; for it betrays such levity 
and want of consideration, as, though excusable in a 
child, we should not easily pardon in a man, especially in 
one who has any dignity of character to support. The 
appearance of excessive joy in a king or commander, on 
occasion of a victory, would be unbecoming, and seem 
to foretell an equal degree of unmanly dejection in the 
event of a defeat. 

350, I cannot, however, go so far as the stoics did, 
in blaming every sort of violent discomposure, whether 



Ch. II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE. 15 i 

expressive of happiness or of affliction ; for I think, 
that the strongest emotions are neither ungraceful, nor 
likely to give offence, when they discover an exquisite 
degree of moral sensibility. A child, after long absent e, 
springing to the embrace of a parent— a wife meeting 
her husband alive and well whom the moment before 
she believed to have perished by shipwreck — the man, 
who had been lame from his birth, entering the tem- 
ple, on being miraculously cured by Peter, " walking, 
" and leaping, and praising God" — these, with a thou- 
sand other instances of agreeable surprise that mi^ht 
easily be imagined, would give delight to the beholder, 
however extravagantly the passion might express itself. 
And in surprises of an opposite nature, and equally 
violent, the most immoderate sorrow would hardly be 
censurable. 

35 1. Different degrees of joy are signified by the 
words gladness, mirth, exultation, rapture, ecstacy ; and dif- 
ferent degrees of sorrow by grief, trouble, anguish mi- 
sery. Mirth is accompanied with laughter — and exulta- 
tion (as the name literally imports' with leaping and 
dancing. The joy that one feels on having overcome 
opposition, has been called triumph ; but this word is 
frequently so used as to convey an idea of insult, which 
is quite unworthy of a generous mind. " Triumph 
•« not over thine husband," says an old adage; " victory 
M is sufficient." Nothing does less honour to the na- 
tional charter of the Roman people, than their tri- 
umphs. There might be policy in them ; but policy 
that shocks humanity is not good. Rejoicing for victo- 
ry may be allowed, and is natural, and indeed, by its 
influence in diffusing public spirit, beneficial. But to 
expose to public view noble and roval prisoners in 
chains, in order to show our power over them, is almost 
as barbarous, as to laugh at a fallen enemy, writhing in 
the agonies of death. 

352. Savages are addicted to this sort of cruelty: 
and the Romans cannot be said to have emerged from 
the savage state, when this barbarous exhibition was 
first introduced among them by Romulus. Its continu- 
ance after they became civil-zed. we rmy partly impute 
to fashion ; which frequently betrays poor mortals into 

P 



162 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

strange inconsistencies of conduct and sentiment. In 
their better days, the Romans were neither ill-natured 
nor ungenerous : yet, if we knew no more of their 
story, than what relates to their triumphs and gladi- 
ators, we must have thought them brutal and bloody 
barbarians. 

353. When gladness, or moderate joy, settles into a 
habit, or continues for a considerable time, it is called 
cheerfulness : and habitual sorrow is termed dejection, 
heaviness, melancholy. Cheerfulness is far preferable to 
mirth : the former is a habit, the latter a temporary 
a&. Mirth is not always friendly to virtue, and, when 
too frequently indulged, betrays an intemperate mind 
not a little tinctured with folly : cheerfulness is a great 
support as well as ornament to every virtue, and is 
consistent with dignity, and even with san&ity, of cha- 
rader. Our mirth is liable to be succeeded by dejec- 
tion : our cheerfulness dispels melancholy both from 
ourselves and from others. A merry companion is often 
teazing, and sometimes intolerable: a cheerful friend 
is always welcome, and one of the greatest comforts of 
life. Mirth, says Addison, is like a flash of lightning 
that breaks through a gloom of clouds, and glitters for 
a moment : cheerfulness keeps up a kind of sunshine 
in the soul, and fills it with a steady and perpetual 
serenity. A cheerful man is master of himself, and en- 
joys a sound judgment and untroubled imagination: 
mirth, to a considerate mind, soon becomes oppressive, 
and for a time discomposes all its faculties. 

354. There are persons, who, from bodily infirmity, 
or a deficiency of animal spirits, cannot for any length 
of time be cheerful ; but if their mind be suited to 
their condition, and their desires proportioned to what 
they possess, they have contentment; and that, when 
founded in a firm persuasion of the goodness and wis- 
dom of Providence, creates a heaven upon earth. I 
know not whether contentment and cheerfulness ought 
not to be called virtues, rather than passions, as they are 
not, when moderate, as the former always is, accompa- 
pied with bodily commotion. Yet in the countenance they 
display themselves very significantly : and he must be 8 
superficial observer, indeed, who cannot distinguish gaj 



Ch. II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE. 165 

from gloomy features, and the placid smile of content- 
ment from the surly look of dissatisfaction. They, who 
wish to be contented and cheerful, must cultivate habits 
of benevolence, humility, and rational piety. Pridt , ma- 
lice, and superstition disfigure the face with frowns, 
and harass the soul with endless vexation. 

355. When we rejoice on account of the joy of others, 
or grieve because they are in trouble, it may be called 
sympathetic joy or sorrow* The remarks formerly made 
on it need not be repeated. Joy, when softened by ten- 
der passions, as conjugal love, natural affection, grati- 
tude, and the like, does sometimes express itself by two 
symptoms, which one would think inconsistent, a smil- 
ing countenance and eyes full of tears. Homer ascribes 
them to Andromache on a particular occasion, Stac^ves* 
ysXeurotr*. when her husband Hector, going out to battle, 
puts his child in her arms, after having held him in his 
own, and solemnly invoked the blessing of heaven upon 
him. A face with this expression is one of the most in- 
teresting objects in nature. Painters have endeavoured 
to do justice to Homer's idea: indeed there cannot be 
a finer subject for painting. Many other emotions al- 
lied to joy are apt to express themselves in the same 
v,aj ; especially in those who have weak nerves, or very 
delicate minds. There are persons, who cannot without 
tears, read sublime verses, or hear or speak of any ex- 
traordinary instance of generosity. The sensations that 
accompany such weeping are, if I may so speak, painful 
from excess of pleasure. 

356. The satisfaction one feels in the approbation of 
one's own conscience, may be called moral joy; and is, 
of all human feelings, the most delightful and perma- 
nent. An approving conscience is a counterbalance to 
all the evils of life, and supplies, even in the hour of 
death, the sweetest consolation. Without it, there can 
be no happiness, and with it, there can be no misery. 
As, on the other hand, moral sorrow, in all its forms of 
remorse, regret, and self-condemnation, unless alle- 
viated by those hopes of pardon, which the truly peni- 
tent are permitted and encouraged to entertain, is 
alone sufficient, even in the greatest worldly prosperity, 
to make life a burden, " The spirit of man will sus- 



164 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

%i tain his infirmity," that is, may support the natural 
evils that flesh is heir to ; " but a wounded spirit who 
u can bear ! w A condemning conscience has often driven 
men to distraction ; and sometimes made them confess 
crimes, which it was in their power to conceal, and which 
they knew would, when confessed, bring upon them capi- 
tal punishment. 

357. Shame is a passion which always accompanies 
moral sorrow. Some persons are indeed incapable of 
shame ; but those, it is to be hoped, are few : for to say 
of a man that he is impudent, or has lost the sense of 
shame, is a most severe censure, and seems to imply, 
that he has no conscience, no fear of God, and no regard 
to man. The word shame has several significations, and 
is applied to several passions, similar perhaps in their 
nature, but not the same. Consciousness of reputation 
lost, or in danger of being lost, causes one sort of shame, 
which is also called confusion of face, and discovers itself 
by blushing, downcast eyes, and abjt-61 behaviour. We 
feel in some degree the same passion, when any thing 
dishonourable is unjustly charged upon us: only in this 
case, our knowledge of our own innocence supports the 
mind, and yields great consolation ; and the shame, that 
may then remain, proceeds from our apprehension, that 
Others, whose opinion we revere, may think hardly of 
us, from not having the means of being better in- 
formed. 

358. Upon the bare mention of any thing indecent, 
though not imputed to any body, a person of delicacy 
is conscious of a passion or feeling, which has also 
been called shame, and discovers itself by the same 
symptom of blushing. This, as a sign of an uncorrupt- 
ed mind, is a very amiable affecYion, and particularly 
becoming in young people; as the rudeness or impu- 
dence of those who give occasion to it, is detestable. Pro- 
fane talkers, lewd jesters, and they who by speech or 
writing, present to the ear or to the eye of modesty any 
of the indecencies I allude to, are pests of society. 
Against the thief and the highwayman, we may, with 
the assistance of law, guard so as to be in no great dan- 
ger from them: but a shameless profligate, by scrawling 
his execrable trash on the walls or windows of an inn, 



Ch.ll. 5. MORAL SCIENCE. 165 

may, to the young and harmless, do lasting mischief) 
which it is impossible to punish, and which therefore 
the law cannot prevent. In this respect, there is not, I 
have been told, any other country so infan ous as our 
own. It is some comfort, however, to reflect, that none 
but the vilest of the people are capable of this enor- 
mity. Those specimens of it, that I have had the mis- 
fortune to see, appear, from the spelling and other 
circumstances, to have been the work of wretches who 
were equally destitute of sense, delicacy, and litera- 
ture. 

359. There is another sort of shame, commonly cal- 
led bashfulness, which often gives great pain to the 
young and unexperienced, when they appear before 
strangers, or in the presence of their superiors, or have 
occasion to speak or act in public. When this evil shame 
(as the French call it) is excessive, so as to make people 
act absurdly, or disqualify them for doing their duty, it 
is very inconvenient as well as awkward ; and pains 
should be taken to get the better of it — not all at once, 
however, nor in haste ; for thus they might be driven in- 
to the opposite and much worse extreme of impudence ; 
but by little and little. Young persons of great sensibi- 
lity are apt to be too much discouraged in the conscious- 
ness of this infirmity : but they have no occasion to be 
so. For, if they are attentive and respectful to their 
company, bashfulness will not injure them in the opinion 
of the discerning : it will rather raise prepossessions in 
their favour. 

360. Even when the season of youth is past, a slight 
degree of bashfulness is not at all ungraceful, on par- 
ticular occasions, especially in those public speakers, 
who wish to gain upon their audience by the gentle 
arts of persuasion ; because it betokens humility and 
respect. Homer, who discriminates human characters 
with the greatest accuracy, tells us, that this was one of 
the peculiarities that distinguished Ulysses as an orator ; 
and the poet adds, that his eloquence was irresistible. 
Ovid attended to this circumstance ; as appears from 
his account of the contest between Ajax and Ulysses, for 
the arms of Achilles. Ajax, who by the by lost his cause, 
begins with exclamation and blustering, suitable to his 

P! 



166 ELEMENTS OF Parti, 

character : but nothing can be more modest or delicate 
than the attitude and exordium of Ulysses*. I mention 
this, because, in the hope that some of those who hear 
me may in time become public speakers, I would caution 
them against that air of confidence and self-sufficiency, 
which I have seen some preachers assume, and which is 
very offensive to a hearer of discernment and delicacy. 
I may add, that, as humility is one of the distinguishing 
virtues of a christian, a gentle, unassuming, and modest 
deportment, especially in public, is indispensable in a 
c'ergyman. Among senators in debate, a more vehe- 
ment animation takes place, and may sometimes be pro- 
per : yet the modest speaker never fails to interest the 
audience in his favour. 

S6U Anger and gratitude. These are the last pair of 
opposite passions which I mentioned, as derived from 
hatred and love. The person, who is instrumental in 
bringing evil upon us, or otherwise offending us, raises 
our anger; which, Locke says, implies a present purpose 
of revenge, as well as a sense of injury. Revenge and an- 
ger do, indeed, too often go together ; but surely there 
may be anger, as in an affectionate parent towards his 
child, without any purpose of revenge. The chastise- 
ment that may follow such anger, is not vindictive ; it 
aims at nothing but the good of the child ; and to the good 
parent, whom duty compels to administer so harsh a re- 
medy, it gives pain instead of pleasure — The person, 
who is instrumental in doing us good, is the object of our 
gratitude ; which is a very pleasing emotion : as anger is 
so much the reverse, that we often call it displeasure. 
Some people are so prone to anger, that one would almost 
think they delighted in it. Bat if this is really the case, 
there must be something unnatural in the disposition of 
their minds. 

362. Every thing that hurts us, is not the object of 
anger. We are not angry at the stone, which, falling 
by accident from the top of a house, gives us a wound: 
but if we believed that a man occasioned its fall, we 
should be angry, either at his malice, if he did it on 
purpose, or at his negligence, if he took no pains to 

* See Ovki. Metam. xiii. 124, 



Ch. II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE. 167 

prevent it. A sudden fit of instinctive anger may indeed 
break out against an inanimate thing: us when we say 
bitter words to the bench that bruises our shin in the 
dark: but such anger is not rational; we immediately 
become ashamed of it ; end were it to continue, it 
would make us ridiculous. An irrational animal, a horse 
that kicks, or a dog that without provocation bites us, 
may raise our anger, because we have some notion, 
though perhaps not well founded, that he might and 
ought to have let us alone; and the punishment we 
apply in such cases, is neither blamed nor ridiculed ; 
because the provocation was great ; and because our 
blows may be effectual, by frightening the animal, in 
preventing such evil for the future. 

363. Anger is generally made up of dislike and some 
degree of ill-will—- but of such ill-will as does not 
always imply malevolence. Parents, as already observ- 
ed, may be angry with those children whom they fond- 
ly love : and that anger is not only consistent with be- 
nevoUnce, but is even a proof, of it. For if a parent 
were not angry when his child is guilty of transgres- 
sion, we should say that he does not love his child so 
much as he ought to do. In like manner, we may be 
angry with a friend or neighbour; that is, we may be 
offended at some injury he has done us, and wish some- 
thing to happen, to make him sensible of his fault, and 
prevent his doing the like for the future ; and all the 
while we may be, and indeed ou^ht to be, far from 
wishing him any real or lasting evil, but, on the con- 
trary, ready to forgive him, desirous of reconciliation, 
and inclined to do him a favour when it is in our 
power. 

364. Anger is called by Horace a short madness. 
When in any degree violent, it is truly so ; for it deprives 
a man, for a time, of the use of his reason, occasions ab- 
surd and immoral conduct, and, if long continued, may 
terminate in real phrenzy. Anger, that is l>oth lasting 
and violent, is termed rancour or maignity^ a passion 
which makes a man miserable and detestable. When 
anger is apt to rise on every trifling occasion, it is cal- 
led peevishness ; and renders one a torment to one's 
self, and a plague to others. Anger that breaks forth 



16S ELEMENTS OF Parti, 

with violence, but is soon over, is termed passionateness ; 
which, though not inconsistent either with good nature 
or with generosity, ought to be restrained ; because it 
is extremely inconvenient to friends and dependents, 
and may hurry a man on to the perpetration of crimes. 
Anger that is cool, silent, and vindictive, is a much 
worse passion : it is indeed so bad, that nothing good 
is to be expected from him who is capable of it. 

365. Anger was implanted in our constitution for 
many valuable purposes, particularly for self-defence. 
Had we nothing irascible in us, there would be no end 
of injuries and indignities; but our knowledge of the 
nature and effects of anger makes us unwilling to pro- 
voke it : and thus men stand in awe of one another, 
which greatly contributes to the peace of society, if an 
injury be acco upanied with circumstances of peculiar 
baseness or meanness our anger is termed indignation. 
When anger exceeds the bounds of self-defence and 
contrives to bring real harm upon others, without any 
view to their good or to that of the community, it be- 
comes revenge^ or vengeance ; which, if generally practi- 
sed, would introduce endless confusion. 

366. For we are apt to think the injury we have just 
now received, greater than it really is; and therefore, 
if we were to retaliate immediately, by word or deed, 
we should hardly fail to go beyond the due bounds, and 
so become injurious in our turn; which would call for 
new revenge from the opposite party ; and that, being 
no doubt equally outrageous, would provoke to further 
vengeance, so that the evil would be incurable. Accor- 
dingly, revenge is forbidden by the laws both of God 
and of man. Savages, who enjoy not the protection of 
law, are their own avengers; whence they become 
addicted to this dreadful passion; and their vengeance 
is always excessive. One is not a competent judge in 
one's own cause. And therefore, in regular society, 
persons of impartiality and considerable learning are 
appointed judges, to punish according to the exact 
amount of the transgression, and give the injured party 
reasonable redress, and no more. 

367. When civilized nations go to war, or individuals 
go to law with one another, the principle of their con- 



Ch. II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE. 16§ 

duel ought to be, not revenge, but a regard to public 
good ; which, in order to discourage injury and to defend 
our violated or endangered rights, compels us to have 
recourse to violent measures, that are justifiable only 
from the necessity of the case. To go to law to plague 
a neighbour, or in order to obtain reparation for a 
petty trespass that does neither us nor the public 
any material injury, has in it more of malice than of 
love to justice. In war, to kill unnecessarily, or with a 
view to gratify private malevolence, is nothing less 
than murder ; and is indeed discountenanced by the 
opinions and practice of al 1 enlightened nations. White 
the enemy attacks or resists, it is lawful, because neces- 
sary, to repel force by force : when he submits, he is 
entitled to mercy, and even to the generosity of the con- 
u queror. Cowards are cruel ; but the brave love mercy> 
" and delight to save." 

368. There are many occasions, on which anger is 
not to be blamed ; there are many, on which it is 
praiseworthy. The scripture intimates, that we may 
be angry without sin : nay, our Saviour himself once 
looked round with anger on the Jews, " being griev- 
ct ed for the hardness of their heart." Anstotle has 
verv perspicuously, though with great brevity, mark- 
ed the boundaries within which this passion may in- 
nocently operate, and so as to deserve praise instead 
of blame. 'O foe* #v \<X) <>/$ *>ott ^W, ofy/^/uevos en react aq JW, 
%#.i ore icect orov xgow* sTc&i&Toit** He who is angry only 
on such occasions as he ought, and with such persons as 
he ought, and in such manner, and at such time, and for 
such length of time, as he ought, is actuated by a lauda- 
ble an?er. I shall make a few remarks on the several 
parts of this aphorism. 

369. First, anger is laudable, when the occasion is 
such as renders it in some degree our duty : and that 
happens, when not to be angry would discover on our 
part a want of moral sensibility, or might prove an en- 
couragement to wickedness in others. Parents over- 
looking a child's transgression, or being equally indul- 
gent to him when he is, and when he is not, in a fault, 

•Ethic, ad Nic. iv. 5. 



170 



ELEMENTS OF 



Part L 

would show a very blameable indifference : they could 
hardly take a more effectual way to corrupt his mind. 
A woman listening;, without extreme indignation, to 
a licentious proposal from a man, would undoubt- 
edly give him reason to think that she did not disap- 
prove of it. To speak without emotion of any shock- 
ing instance of cruelty, ingratitude, injustice, blas- 
phemy, or any other impiety, would make us suspect 
the speaker not only of insensibility, but of a total 
want of principle. In cases of this nature, anger, under 
certain limitations, is a virtue, and the want of it a 
vice. 

370. With respeft to indignities offered to ourselves, 
though we ought always to exercise forbearance, and 
be ready to forgive ; yet if, on receiving a very gross 
and public insult, we were to show no resentment, the 
world would blame our meanness of spirit, and think us 
not very fit to be entrusted with the important concerns 
of another, when we showed so little attention to our 
own. Peculiar circumstances, however, and the dignity 
of certain characters, might make great alteration in 
a matter of this kind. When, at the trial of Charles 1/ 
one of the by-standers spat in the king's face, and he, 
without sneaking or even looking at the traitor, calmly 
wiped his cheek with a handkerchief, he manifested a 
greatness of soul that had in it something more than 
heroic, and almost more than human. But what words 
can express our detestation of the ruffian who could 
perpetrate such a deed ! 

371. Anger is laudable, secondly, when a man is 
angry with such persons as he ought. The persons, 
with whom we may reasonably be angry, have been 
most of them, specified already. Those, towards whom 
we ought to exercise particular lenity and forbearance, 
are, first, our benefactors and friends, who may hap- 
pen, in an unguarded moment, through the weakness 
of hum m nature, to give us offence. Secondly, men 
eminently good, or whom we know to be good. Great 
reverence is due to good men ; and if we only hint to 
them, in the gentlest terms, that they have, without 
design, done us injury, it would wound them as deep- 
ly as they ought to be wounded ; they will readily 



Ch. II. 1. MORAL SCIENC E. 171 

make acknowledgments ; and further, reproach from us 
would be cruel. Thirdly, they who are liable to be too 
much disheartened by our anger, as dependents, affec- 
tionate children, persons in adversity, or of delicate 
health and spirits, or weak in understanding, are all en- 
titled to peculiar tenderness ; being all objects of pity, 
and not likely to offend, except through inadvertence. 
And fourthly, those, whom our anger would probably ir- 
ritate, or to whom it could not do any good, we ought to 
bear with, or let alone, for our own sakes, as well as for 
theirs*. 

372. I need not add, that to be angry with our Crea- 
tor, is of all passions the most shocking, unnatural, and 
inexcusable ; insomuch that you mays perhaps, think 
the human heart, bad as it is, incapable of such impiety. 
But are not they guilty of it. who repine at Providence, 
either for bringing on them adversity, which they may 
fancy they do not deserve, or for making their neighbour 
prosperous beyond what they may think him entitled to? 
All such murmurings, envyings, and discontents, how- 
ever common, and however disguised, are so many in- 
stances of anger, if not of hatred, towards both God and 
man. This ought to be seriously considered. Content- 
ment with our lot, joy in our neighbour's prosperity, and 
resignation to the divine will, diffuse ineffable tranqui- 
lity over the soul, prevent the intrusion of anger and 
every other painful passion, keep us at peace with all 
the world, and make us rejoice in God and all his dis- 
pensations. 

373. Thirdly, anger is laudable, when the manner of 
it is consistent with propriety and duty. It appears from 
what has been said, that our anger may be in too slight 
a degree ; as when it sets before others an example of 
blameable indifference, or tends to repress, and conse- 
quently to weaken, our moral sensibility. But excess of 
anger is the more common and more dangerous ex- 
treme. And it is hardly possible, and perhaps would 
not be expedient, to fix the boundary to which anger, 
consistently with innocence, may go. Tf this were ascer- 
tained, and people taught that they might safely pro- 

* See archbishop Seeker's sermons, vol. 5. 



172 ELEMENTS OP Part I. 

ceed so far, they would think they might proceed a lit- 
tle and a little further, till at last they might lose all re- 
membrance of the boundary. For he, who ventures to 
the utmost verge of innocence, seldom fails to go beyond 
it : there is a criminal presumption in venturing so far. 
Two rules, however, may be given on this head : the first, 
that our anger should never make us lose the government 
of ourselves ; the second, that it should never do injury 
to others. 

374. Anger, thus moderated, will not produce in us 
any commotion so violent as to hurt our health, or our 
character, as men of prudence ; nor will it break out 
in boisterous or unsulting language, far less in that im- 
pious and barbarous practice of cursing and swearing. 
To whatever degree we may be irritated, we shall do 

•'well neither to speak nor to act, while our agitation is 
such as to prevent calm reflexion. It is said of Socrates, 
that, when greatly provoked, he became instantly si'ent; 
and I suppose he never had occasion to repent of his si- 
lence. And I have heard it recommended as a good rule, 
that, before a man give way to his passion, he should 
take time to do something else that is not connected with 
it, and if possible retire for a moment, if it were only to 
recollect some passage of a favourite author, or even to 
repeat the letters of the alphabet. A little delay may 
do good ; and forbearance and mildness can never do 
harm. 

375. Fourthly, anger is laudable, when it is well- 
timed. Now it is not well-timed, when it interferes 
with the performance of any important duty: to pray, 
or go to church, in anger, would be very indecent. Nor 
is anger well-timed, when we have not had the means 
of knowing, whether any real offence has been ^iven, 
or what is the true amount of the offence : mistakes of 
this nature are not uncommon; men are often offend- 
ed without cause- and genera^v more than they ought 
to be. Anger is also unseasonaWe, w r hen it is likelv to 
give pain or show disrespect to our company ; or when 
it is directed against a man, whose present temper of 
mind makes him, from an excess of levity, or from any 
at her intemperance, deaf to reason, or in a condition 
of being easily exasperated. Such infirmities we all 



Chap. II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE. i/3 

have; and, as we al! wish allowances to be made for them 
in ourselves, we all ought to make the like allowances in 
favour of others. 

576. Fifthly, anger is not blamed when it continues no 
longer than is reasonable. Lasting resentment is inexcu- 
sable, whatever the provocation may have been. It sours 
the temper, and so rakes a man unfit for society, and 
unhappy in himself; it excludes from his mind benevo- 
lent and pious thoughts ; it cherishes pride, envy, con- 
tempt, and other violent and gloomy perturbations. " Let 
not the sun go down on your wrath," is an excellent rule: 
but, for the most part, anger is censurable if it last an 
hour, or even a much shorter space. The moment the 
offender owns his fault, or seems desirous of reconcilia- 
tion, cur anger ought to be lost in forgiveness* Though 
he should not own his fault, nor give reason to believe 
that there is any change in his mind for the better, we 
shall do well to check our anger ; or, if it be prudent to 
keep up an appearance of it, to take care that it be an ap- 
pearance only : for, because he is injurious, it does not 
follow that we ought to make ourselves unhappy ; which 
we shall certainly do, if we suffer this tormenting passion 
to take and to keep possession of us. 

377. Let those, who are prone to anger, abstain at 
least from every outward expression of it, from re- 
proachful words and vindictive deeds, and conceal it 
carefully within their own breast. In this way they may 
in time get the command of it ; for most passions, thus 
restrained, become weaker. Let them resolve, that they 
will abstain from anger for a day, for two days, for a 
week, for a month ; and, if they adhere to the resolu- 
tion, they will soon congratulate themselves on the 
happy consequences. Let them, as much as possible, 
keep aloof from vexatious business, and from quarrel- 
some and litigious men ; and avoid not only those al- 
tercations which may lead to anger, but disputes in ge- 
neral, and all that sort of reading which is termed con- 
troversial. Let them never for a moment imagine, as 
passionate men are apt to do, that their anger is incura- 
ble. They can manage it sometimes for the sake of in- 
terest : let them learn to manage it for Cod's sake, 

Q 



174 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

and for the sake of their fellow-creatures, and them- 
selves. 

378. Gratitude was mentioned as the passion that 
seems to stand in opposition to anger. We naturally 
love a man, because he is of the same condition with 
ourselves ; we have good-will towards him, because he 
stands in need of our aid, and may be profited by it ; we 
love him yet more, if we know him to be of a mild dispo- 
sition — and more still, when he proves himself a friend 
to mankind by acts of beneficence : but if we ourselves 
are the objects of that beneficence, our good-will towards 
him, and our delight in him, ought to be very strong. 
When we thus contemplate our benefactor, not only 
with sentiments of complacency and benevolence, but 
also with a disposition to requite his favours, this mix- 
ture of pleasurable emotions is termed gratitude The " 
reverse is ingratitude ; which, if it cannot be called a pas- 
sion, because it occasions little commotion in the corpo- 
real part of our nature, is» however, a vice of such enor- 
mity, that the most profligate man would be ashamed to 
acknowledge himself guilty of it. 

379. Si ingratum dixeris, omnia dixeris, says the Latin 
maxim: if you call a man ungrateful, you have called 
him every thing that is base ; you need say nothing 
more. The ungrateful man is an enemy to the human 
race ; for his condu6\ tends to discourage beneficence : 
and he is unfit for society and unworthy of it, because 
his indifference or hatred towards his benefactor proves 
him to be hard-hearted and unjust. There are two 
forms of this vile disposition ; one, when a man ne- 
glects to requite a favour, when the requital is in his 
power ; the other, when he returns evil for good. The 
last is, no doubt, the worst ; but both are so bad, that 
they are called by the same name ; it being difficult to 
find in language an epithet of more reproachful import 
than ungrateful. Gratitude is a gentle affection, and 
makes no great commotion in the animal economy ; yet 
is an active principle, and often displays itself visibly 
in the countenance, by raising the complexion, bright- 
ening the eyes, and sometimes filling them with tears. 



Ch. II. 5. MORAL SCIENCE, 175 

An eye that weeps with gratitude has a particular splen- 
dor and earnestness in the expression. 

380. Gratitude towards things irrational, or even in- 
animate, (if the term gratitude may be used in such a con- 
nexion), is not the object of censure or ridicule ; for 
every emotion, that resembles this amiable virtue, beto- 
kens a goodness of nature, which the passions allied to 
anger frequently do not. The plank, that brought the 
muriner on shore from a shipwreck, we should not blame 
him for taking particular care of, refusing to part with it, 
for any pecuniary consideration, and even sheltering it 
from the injuries of the weather: we might smile at the cir- 
cumstance ; but it would be a smile, Rot of scorn, but of 
kindness. Dogs and horses have been instrumental in 
saving men's lives : particular good-will towards such a 
dog, or such a horse would be laudable ; and to shoot the 
one for running down a sheep, or to harass with toil the 
old age of the other, would be cruel, and, without any 
violent figure of speech, might even be termed ingrati- 
tude. However, what is properly and without a figure, 
called gratitude, (and the same thing is true of anger) 
has for its objecl a being that acts, or seems to act, with 
some degree of intention. We are grateful, not to the 
medicine, but to the physician, that cures us ; and angryi 
not at the knife which wounds, but with the person who 
intentionally or negligently wielded it. Gratitude is due 
to every benefactor, and ought to be ardent in proportion 
to the magnitude of the favour, and the benevolence of 
those who confer it. Persons of small ability confer 
great favours, when what they do proceeds from a high 
degree of good-will: by him, who saw the generosity 
of the giver, the widow's mite was accounted a great 
sum. 

381. To the Supreme Being, who freely gives us life 
and every other good thing, our highest gratitude is 
due ; and should be continually offered up in silent 
thanksgiving, and often expressed in words, that it may 
have the more powerful effect on our own minds, and 
on those whose devotion we wish to direct, or to animate- 
Parents are in the next degree our benefactors, at least 
in ordinary cases : for to an attentive and affectionate 



176 ELEMENTS OF Part I. 

parent, who must have done so much for us when we 
could do nothing for ourselves, and watched so long and 
so anxiously, and so frequently and fervently prayed, for 
our welfare, we are more indebted than to any other fel- 
low-creature. A stranger who relieves us, though he 
never saw us before and may never see us again, is also 
entitled to peculiar acknowledgments of gratitude, on 
account of the disinterestedness of his virtue. But we 
must not think ourselves exempted from the obligation 
of this great duty, even when our benefactor is a person 
on whom we may have conferred many favours. A pa- 
rent ought with thankfulness to receive what a dutiful 
child offers for his relief. " This is nothing more than 
I was well entitled to," would be an improper speech 
on such an occasion. It would intimate, that the parent, 
in taking care of his child, had been actuated, as much 
at least by the hope of recompense, as by natural affec- 
tion, and a sense of duty. 

SECT. VI. 

THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. 

Passions and affections. 

382. T HAVE now given a brief account of some of 
X our more remarkable passions, but have not 
gone through the subject, and could easily have pro< 
ceeded further if there had been time for it. Hints 
liave been occasionally thrown in, with respect to the 
government of particular passions : I subjoin some 
brief remarks of a more general nature. — The govern- 
ment of the passions is a difficult work — but absolutely 
necessary, if we wish to be happy either in the next 
world or in this. And as it is the more difficult, the 
longer it is delayed, it is the part of prudence, as well 
as matter of duty, to begin it without delay. The diffi- 
culty of this duty may appear from the concurring tes- 
timony of wise men in every age ; from the earnestness 
with which all moralists, particularly the inspired writ- 
ters, recommend it j from what we may feel in our- 



Ch. II. 6. MORAL SCIENCE. 1T7 

selves, of the unmanageableness of our passions) especi- 
ally of those to which we are most inclined by nature 
or by habit ; and from what we must have observed in 
the world around us, where we see men of good under-K 
standing in other respects, enslaved to criminal inclina- 
tions, and led on to ruin with their eyes open, by the 
strength of prevailing appetites. 

S83. Temperance and an active life, are of the greatest 
benefit in preserving the health of both the body and the 
mind ; and in giving us, at all times, the command of 
our thoughts, and consequently of our passions. Savages 
are much addicted to intemperance and idleness ; and 
their passions are proportionably outrageous. As the pas« 
sions depend in a great measure upon the imagination 
whatever tends to regulate that faculty, tends also to make 
them regular. An imagination is kept regular by culti- 
vating habits of industry and soberness, piety and hu- 
mility, and by cherishing the love of nature, simplicity 
<md truth. The passions also depend in part on the bo- 
dily constitution) and in some men are naturally stronger 
than in others. But every man may govern his passions, 
if he will take the necessary pains. The more the body 
is pampered, the greater strength will every evil passion 
acquire : and therefore a hardy as well as a busy life* 
tends to keep them manageable. Intemperance puts us 
off our guard, and disqualifies us for that strict self-go- 
v-rnment, which is, at all times, incumbent on us as mo- 
ral and accountable beings. A very slight degree of it 
has this effect. 

334. The regulation of the passions ought to begin 
as early in life as possible. Then indeed they are strong, 
but then the mind is docile, and has not contracted many 
evil habits. They, therefore, who have the care of chil- 
dren, should be very attentive to their passions and opin- 
ions, as soon as these begin to appear ; rectifying the 
latter, if erroneous, and of the former repressing such as 
seem to partake of malice, pride, vanity, envy, or suspi- 
cion. The benevolent and pious affections cannot be in- 
dulged too much ; and joy, hope, and fear, are useful 
when moderate and properly directed. As a restraint on 
the passions of childhood, a sense of honour and shame? 

Q2 



178 ELEMENTS OF Parti. 

if cherished from the beginning, will be found to have 
better effecls than bodily punishment ; which ought ne- 
ver to be had recourse to, till all other means have been 
tried and found ineffectual. But nothing in a teacher or 
parent has more salutary consequences, than to set a 
good example, of candour, moderation, good-nature, 
humanity, and modesty. u Let no visible or audible 
impurity," says Juvenal, "enter the apartment of a child; 
" for to children the greatest reverence is due." See 
his fourteenth satire , in which are many excellent re- 
marks to the same purpose. It is pity that author was in 
this respect so very inattentive to his own precepts. 

385. Let no evil passion impose on us, by assuming a 
false name ; for this often happens, and is often fatal to 
virtue. Men are apt to mistake their own avarice 
for frugality, profusion for generosity, suspicion for 
cautious discernment, pride for magnanimity, ostenta- 
tion for liberality, detraction for the love of truth, inso- 
lence for plain-dealing, revenge for resentment, envy for 
emulation, and sensuality for necessary amusement. 
We must carefully guard against these and the like er- 
rors, by studying our own character with impartiality, 
and attending to what is said ofus, not only by our friends, 
but also by our enemies, and by the world in general. 
Yqv though our faults and infirmities are sometimes 
magnified by malicious misrepresentation, , it does not 
often happen, that a man is universally blamed for a fault 
from which he is altogether free. 

386. Even from lawful gratifications we should accus- 
tom ourselves frequently to abstain ; for we ought always 
to have our passions and appetites in our power, remem- 
bering that the present is a life of trial, and was never 
intended for a state of complete happiness. Nor will 
this abstinence take away from our sum of worldly 
enjoyment ; on the contrary, it will add to it. As tem- 
perance, and even fasting some times, may not only 
contribute to health, but also, by quickening appetite, 
increase the pleasure of eating and drinking ; so it is 
with our other appetites. Continual indulgence makes 
them unruly, and less sensible to pleasure ; abstinence 
quickens them, and keeps them manageable. 



Ch.II.6. MORAL SCIENCE. 179 

387. Restrain needless curiosity ; nor enquire into 
thai business or those sentiments of other men, in which 
you have no concern ; nor puzzle yourselves with intri* 
cate and unprofitable speculation. There is in some 
people a restless and captious spirit, which is perpetually 
finding fault, and proposing schemes, and contriving 
arguments for the support of paradox, and meddling with 
matters that are not within their sphere. Hence arise 
anxiety, vexation, disappointment, misanthropy, scepti- 
cism, and many passions both unruly and unnatural, 
which we may easily avoid, if we take the apostle's advice, 
and " study to be quiet, and to mind our own business.'' 

388. Avoid all companies, all books, and all opportu- 
nities of a6lion, by which you may have reason to appre- 
hend that irregular passions may be raised or encoura- 
ged. How much good manners may be corrupted by 
evil communication, the sad experience of every age, I 
had almost said of every man, can abundantly testify. 
The world judges of men from the company they keep ; 
and it is right that it should be so. No man will choose 
for his companion the person whom he either despises 
or disapproves. He, therefore, who associates with the 
wicked and the foolish, gives proof of his own wickedness 
and folly. We may be the better, as long as we live, 
for having conversed one hour with a wise and good 
man : and the same time, spent with those of an oppo- 
site character, may give our virtue an incurable wound. 

389. Consider all those books as dangerous, by which 
criminal passions may be inflamed, or good principles 
subverted ; and I again warn you to avoid them as you 
would the pestilence. To take pleasure in such things 
is a mark of as great corruption of mind, and ought to 
be accounted as dishonorable, as to keep company 
with pick-pockets, gamblers, and atheists. Study the 
evidence of your religion, so as to be able to give a rea- 
son to those who may have a right to question you con- 
cerning your faith ; and steadily, though calmly, defend 
your principles, if you should have tlae misfortune to 
fall into the company of those who controvert them : 
but do not rashly engage in this sort of altercation ; 
nor choose for your friend or companion the man who 




180 ELEMENTS OF Part L 

takes pleasure in the books of infidelity. Such a man 
you will hardly convert by reasoning ; as his unbelief 
is founded not in reason, but in prejudice ; and you 
need not expect to receive from him much useful infor- 
mation in these matters, as you will find, (at least I have 
always found) that he has attended to one side only of 
the question. 

390. Games of chance, where money is the object, 
are dangerous in the extremes They cherish evil pas- 
sions without number ; as avarice, anger, selfishness, 
discontent ; and give rise to altercation and quarrelling, 
and sometimes, as I am well informed, to the most 
shocking impiety : they occasion, as long as they conti- 
nue, a total loss of time and of all the rational pleasures 
of social life : they are generally detrimental to health, 
by keeping the body inactive, and encroaching on the 
hours of rest : they produce a feverish agitation of the 
spirits, as hurtful to the mind, as habitual dram-drinking 
would be to the body : they level all distinctions of sense 
and folly, vice and virtue ; and bring together, on the 
same footing, men and women of decent and of the 
most abandoned manners. Persons, who take pleasure 
in play, seldom fail to become immoderately attached 
to it ; and neglect of business, and the ruin of fortune, 
family, and reputation, are too frequently the conse- 
quence. Savages are addicted to gaming ; and, in this 
respect, whatever difference there may be in the dress, 
or colour of the skin, the characters of the gentleman 
gambler and the gambling savage are not only similar, 
but the same. The savage at play will lose his wife, 
and children, and personal liberty ; the other will throw 
away in the same manner what should support his wife 
and children, and keep himself out of a jail; and it is 
well if he stop short of self-murder. Is it possible to 
keep at too great distance from such enormities? and 
can the man, who once engages in this dreadful business, 
say when he will stop, or how far he may go? Let no 

SUCH MAN BE TRUSTED. 

391. Our thoughts, as well as the real occurrences of 
life, may draw forth our passions ; and one may work 
one's mind into a ferment of anger, or some other 



Ch. II. 7. MORAL SCIENCE. 181 

violent discomposure, without having been exposed to 
any temptation, and merely by ruminating on certain 
objects. When we find this to be the case, let us 
instantly give a new, and, if possible, an opposite, direc- 
tion to the current of our thoughts. If any evil passion 
get hold of us, and will not yield to reason — if, for exam- 
ple, we be very angry with an injurious neighbour, let 
us cease to think of him, and employ ourselves in some 
other interesting and more agreeable recollection : let 
us call to mind some happy incident of our past life : let 
us think of our Creator, and of his goodness to mankind 
and to us in particular : let us meditate on the impor- 
tance of our present conduct, and of that tremendous 
futurity which is before us : or, if we be not, at this 
particular time, well prepared for serious thought, let us 
apply to some book of harmless amusement, or join in 
some entertaining conversation : and thus we shall get 
rid of the passion that haunts us, and forget both its 
object and its cause. 



Of the pass ions > as they display themselves in the look and 
vesture. 



292. "pASSIONS being commotions of the body, as 
X well as of the mind, it is no wonder that they 
should display themselves in the looks and behaviour. 
If they did not, our intercourse with one another would 
be much more difficult and dangerous than it really is ; 
because we could not so readily discover the characters 
of men, or what is passing in their minds. But the 
outward expression of the passions is a sort of universal 
language — not very extensive indeed, but sufficiently so 
to give information of many things which it concerns us 
to know, and which otherwise we could not have known. 
When a man is even at pains to conceal his emotions, his 
eyes, features, complexion, and voice will discover them 
to a discerning observer ; and when he is at no pains to 
hide or disguise what he feels, the outward indications 
will be so significant, that hardly any person can mistake 



182 ELEMENTS OF Part. I* 

their meaning : his anger, for example, though he should 
not utter a word, will contract his brows, flash in his 
eyes, make his lips quiver, and give irregular motions 
to his limbs. Sallust says of Cataline, that his eyes had 
a disagreeable glare — that his complexion was pale — 
his walk sometimes quick and sometimes slow — and that 
his general appearance betokened a discomposure of 
mind approaching to insanity. 

393, It must be remarked here, that all are not 
equally quick-sighted in discerning the inward emotion 
by means of the outward sign. Some have great acute- 
ness in this respeel, some very little : which may 
in part be owing to habits of attention or inattention. 
If there be men, as I believe there are, who study 
almost every countenance that comes in their way, 
whether of man or of beast — and if there he others 
who seldom mind things of that nature — it is reason- 
able to suppose, that the former will have more of 
this acuteness than the latter. The talent 1 speak of 
is sometimes called skill in physiognomy, or physiognomo- 
ny ; which last form of the word is more suitable to 
its Greek original. Aristotle, and other ancient phi- 
losophers, wrote of it : and there were in ancient 
times persons whose profession it was to judge of the 
character from the outward appearance. One of these, 
having seen Socrates, without knowing who he was, 
pronounced him to be a very bad man, and enslaved 
to some of the wort passions in human nature. This 
was reported to Socrates, as a proof of the presumption 
and folly of the physiognomist. But Socrates told them, 
that the man had discovered uncommon penetration ; 
for that he was by nature subject to all those passions, 
though, with the aid ofreason and philosophy, he had 
now got the better of them. 

394. I remark, secondly, that as all human minds 
are not equally susceptible of warm emotion ; so all 
human bodies are not equally liable to receive impres- 
sions from the mind. There is an awkardness in the 
gestures of some people, and a want of meaning in 
their faces, which make the outward appearance 
pretty much the same at all times, unless they be under 



ChalUr. MORAL SCVRNG ( r. 1S3 

great agitation. This may be in part constitutional and 
partly the effect of habit- That uniformity of feature, 
which the stoics affected, and in which they supposed 
the dignity of man in a great measure to consist; was, 
no doubt, in many of them, assumed and artificial. But 
when we see the looks of one child continually varying, 
as his thoughts vary, and those of another rarely 
undergoing any sensible change, we must impute this 
diversity to constitution, as v/e cannot suppose there 
is art or affectation in the case. In the countenance 
of Garrick, there was more variety of expression than 
I ever saw in any other. This, after he became a player, 
he studied and practised with extraordinary application : 
but the same thing was observable in him from his earli- 
est years ; as I have been assured by those who knew 
him when a boy. 

395. I remark, thirdly, that all states of society, do not 
allow equal scope to the outward and visible display of 
the passions. People in civilized life, from the awe in 
which they stand of the fashion and of one another, are 
at pains to curb, or at least lo hide, their more violent e- 
motions: whereas among savages, and persons little ac- 
quainted with decorum j there is hardly any restraint of 
this sort. Hence the intercourse of the latter is always 
more boisterous than that of the former, whether the 
conversation lead to joy or sorrow, merriment or anger ; 
and their countenances are more deeply impressed with 
the traces of their predominant passions. Artists* too, 
as I have elsewhere remarked, who employ themselves 
in the nicer parts of mechanics, have generally a fixed- 
ness of feature suited to the earnest attention which they 
are obliged to bestow on their work: while those who 
can ply their trade, and amuse themselves at the same 
time with discourse, have for the most part smoother 
faces, and features less significant. 

396. Though there are many, who, from inattention 
or other causes, arc not acute in discerning human cha- 
racters, yet almost every man is to a certain degree a 
physiognomist. Every one can distinguish an angry 
from a placid, a cheerful from a melancholy, a thought- 
ful from a thoughtless, and a dull from a penetrating, 



184 ELEMENTS OF Part. I. 

countenance. Children are capable of this ; and soon 
learn to fear the frowns, and take encouragement 
from the smiles, of the nurse ; to participate in her 
joys or sorrows, when they sec the outward signs of 
those emotions: and to stand more in awe of an acute 
than of ^ listless observer. The faces of the more saga- 
cious brutes are not without expression. A curst cur 
and a well-natured dog, a high-mettled and a spiritless 
horse, are known by their countenance and carriage : 
and one might perceive, intuitively, that wolves, foxes f 
pole-cats, and bull-dogs, are dangerous animals, and 
that from asses, sheep, calves, lambs, and kids, one has 
nothing to fear. Me who acknowledges these facts, and 
has observed what varieties of expression may be dis- 
played in pictures and statues, will admit that physi- 
ognomy is a sort of science, and not destitute of truth ; 
and that by a careful observer, considerable progress 
may be made in it. 

397. But observe, that it is not from the countenance 
alone that physiognomists form their opinions. They 
must hear a man speak, and see him move, and act, 
and smile — they must be acquainted with his general 
carriage, before they can decide upon his character. 
Painters have observed, that the position of the head is 
particularly eprexssive. Humility and sorrow appear in 
its hanging down ; arrogance, in lifting it up, and tos- 
sing it back ; some of the gentler affections, in its in- 
clining to one side ; and steadiness, in its rising ere6l 
between the shoulders. Love, hatred, joy, grief, intrea- 
ty, threatening, mildness, as well as admiration, anger, 
and scorn, have visible effects on the attitudes of the 
head. The hands, too, which it is difficult to move 
gracefully, and which those, who have not been accus- 
tomed to elegant society, ought to move but seldom and 
with caution — the hands, I say, by their motions and 
gestures, express various states of the mind, as admira- 
tion, hope, consent, refusal, fear, intreaty, and many- 
others. But to describe those motions with accuracy, is 
hardly possible ; and, in a matter of this kind, inaccurate 
rules are worse than no rules at alU as they lead to affecta- 
tion, and consequently to ungracefulness. 



Ch. II. 7. MORAL SCIENCE. 155 

S98 % Some people show their characters more slowly 
than others. With one you think yourself acquainted 
at first sight ; of another, after long trial, you can make 
nothing) and, if he is very cautjous, he may elude your 
acutest observation for years. Hence let the physiogno- 
mist learn to be rather slow than hasty in forming a 
judgment. Let him be on his guard, though appearan- 
ces are favourable : and let charity incline him to mo- 
deration, even when he may think he has certainly 
detected a dangerous or disagreeable associate. We are 
often dissatisfied with a man at his first appearance, 
whom we afterwards find worthy of high esteem. In 
short, physiognomy is, in most cases, a conjectural sci- 
ence, and must not be implicitly trusted ; for objections 
may be found to almost every one of its principles. 
Marshal Turenne, the greatest commander and one of 
the best men of his time, had so unpromising a look, that 
when meanly dressed, as he often was, strangers were 
apt to mistake him for a simpleton. The same thing is 
recorded of another illustrious commander, Phiiopemen: 
and our Charles II. though a man of great pleasantry and 
good nature, had a stern and forbidding countenance. 

399. Though I have long been studious of physiog- 
nomy, and sometimes flattered myself that 1 had skill 
in it, I dare not venture to treat of it in any other way, 
than by offering a few slight observations : well know- 
ing, that on such a subject, people are apt to run into 
wild theories, more likely to mislead than to inform. 
The opinions of Aristotle and other old writers have been 
collected by Joannes Baptista Porta; whose book, though 
formerly in some esteem, will give little satisfaction to 
the unbiassed and inquisitive observer. He, and some 
others, have amused themselves with fancying likenesses 
between the faces of men and of brutes, and assigning 
that character to the man, which predominates in the 
beast he resembles. They have also, from the propor- 
tions of particular parts of a human body, drawn conclu- 
sions with respe6l to the virtues or vices of the soul with 
which it is animated. And some would estimate the 
powers of a man's understanding by the shnpe of his 
scull, and the outline of his brow and nose. 1 have 

R 



1S6 ELEMENTS OF Parti, 

neiflier time nor inclination to enter into these enqui- 
ries ; though I will not take it upon me to say, that they 
are wholly without foundation. 

400. Of all the physiognomists I know, ancient or 
modern, the most eminent is John Gaspard Lavater, a 
clergyman of Zurich in Switzerland. He has published 
three magnificent volumes, and adorned them with ma- 
ny curious drawings. The work has noble strains of 
eloquence, and proves the author to be a man of great 
piety and goodness of heart ; and many of his remarks, 
on the human and other figures which he presents to 
his reader, are such as, I think, no person of observation 
can refuse to acquiesce in. But he is frequently whimsi- 
cal, and in an affirmation too positive. His style, though 
beautiful in particular passages, is upon the whole dif- 
fuse, incoherent, and declamatory, to such a degree, that 
I believe it would be a difficult matter to digest his no- 
tions into a system. Some persons in his neighbourhood 
having been poisoned with the wine in the eucharist, 
Lavater, supposing it had been done intentionally, preach- 
ed a sermon with extraordinary vehemence ; in which 
was this remarkable saying, which I mention, to show 
his confidence in his art, u I would not advise the perpe- 
" trator of this horrid deed to come in my way ; for I 
" shall certainly know him by his look, if ever I set my 
c< eyes upon him." Lavater is a man of genius and pen- 
etration, and a good deal of entertainment may be found 
in his book. But I am afraid it will not teach sagacity 
to those on whom nature has not bestowed that talent ; 
nor form to habits of minute attention those who are 
habitually inattentive. And if it should encourage the 
unskilful to form rash judgments, there is reason to 
apprehend that it may do more harm than good. I shall 
not attempt to give a more particular account of it ; for 
that would lead me too far from my present purpose. 

401. Every body knows, that virtuous and innocent 
affections give an agreeable expression to the counte- 
nance, and criminal passions the contrary. Anger, 
discontent, despair, disfigure the features, distort the 
limbs, and give dissonance to the voice ;.. while good- 
humour, contentment, hope, joy, benevolence, have a 



Ch.II. 7. MORAL SCIENCE. 187 

pleasing effect, in setting off the body to advantage. 
Emotions that are innocent, and at the same time in some 
degree painful, as pity and rational sorrow, discompose 
the features ; but such discomposure, far from being un- 
seemly, may be even captivating : beauty in tears has 
been found irresistible. When a passion becomes ha- 
bitual, it is reasonable to suppose, that those muscles, of 
the brows, eyes, nostrils, cheeks and mouth, over which 
it has influence, will, by acting continually in the same 
way, produce traces in the countenance, and fix upon it 
a visible character. This appears even in early life. A 
peevish or good-humoured, a cheerful or melancholy, 
boy, soon contracts what we call a peevish or good-hu- 
moured, a cheerful or melancholy, look. And if these 
dispositions continue to predominate in him, the lines 
produced by them, in the several parts of the face, will ia 
tijme become as permanent as those which are seen in 
the palm of the hand. What it may be, which connects 
certain emotions of the soul with certain configurations 
of the muscles of the face, and certain attitudes of the 
head and limbs, I cannot determine ; Des Cartes and 
others have enquired into this matter, but without 
success; and, till the union of the soul and body be 
understood, this will probably remain a mystery impene- 
trable to man. 

402. In order to form some idea of the expression of 
the countenance, we are desired to suppose four parallel 
lines to be drawn across it ; one in the direction of the 
eye-brows — another in that of the eyes — a third in that 
of the lower part of the nose— and a fourth in that of the 
mouth. It is not meant, that these must be right lines, 
or parallel in the geometrical sense of the word : they 
are only supposed to have the same direction nearly, and 
to extend from the one side of the face to the other. 
While they remain parallel, and with little or no incur- 
vation upwards or downwards, the countenance will 
indicate tranquillity, that is, a composed state of mind 
without emotion. If they seem depressed in the middle 
of the face, and elevated towards the sides of it, the ex- 
pression will incline to cheerfulness ; if raised in the 
middle and depressed towards the sides, the effect will 



183 ELEMENTS OF Part L 

be contrary, and convey an idea of melancholy, or at least 
of sedateness. I do not say, that this holds invariably ; I 
mean, that it is so for the most part : r.nd every thing 
must be understood to be thus limited, that relates to the 
present subject. 

403. The raising of the line of the mouth, at the two 
jpxtremities, is so well known to express cheerfulness^ 
that unskilful painters, in order to give that meaning to 
their portraits, turn up the corners of the mouth, even 
when the rest of the countenance betokens composure, 
as the feature of those who sit for their picture common- 
ly do. But this contrivance produces a smirk or affected 
grin, rather than a smile ; because the rest of the face 
is not conformable to it. When the lines above-men- 
tioned, especially that of the eye-brows (the most ex* 
pressive of them all) are twisted, or irregularly bent, it 
generally intimates discomposure of mind, and, when 
much twisted, violent discomposure. There is expres- 
sion too, as every body knows, in the colour of certain 
features. A bright and sparkling eye, and increased 
ruddiness in the cheeks and lips, accompany keen emo- 
tions ; as languid eyes and pale lips and cheeks betoken 
the contrary. 

404. Admiration, as formerly observed, elevates the 
eye-brows, opens the mouth and eyes, fixes the attention 
4ipon the admired object, raises the hands, and spreads 
the fingers : astonishment opens the mouth and eyes 
still wider, and gives a greater and more irregular eleva- 
tion to the brows. If to astonishment fear be added, 
both rows of the teeth will appear, and those ends of the 
eye-brows, which are next the nose, will be much wrink- 
led, and drawn downward, so as to hide the upper eye-lid. 
Esteem composes the countenance, elevates the pupils 
of the eyes, draws the eye-brows down towards the nose, 
contracts the nostrils, opens the mouth a little, and gent- 
ly depresses the corners of it. Veneration sometimes 
assumes the same appearances a little heightened, eleva- 
vating the pupil of the eye till it almost disappear under 
the eye-lid ; and sometimes shuts the mouth and eyes, 
inclining the face towards the ground, and spreading the 
hand upon the breast. 



Ch. II. 7. MORAL SCIENCE. 189 

405. Contempt elevates and draws back the head* 
wrinkles and pulls down the brows, distends and raises 
the nostrils, shuts the mouth and depresses the corners 
of it, makes the under-lip more prominent than the upper, 
turns away the face from the despised object, and directs 
the eyes towards it obliquely. Grief raises the brows 
towards the middle of the forehead, depressing them at 
the temples, gives a similar direction to the line of the 
mouth, half shuts the eyes, hiding the'pupils under the up- 
per eye-lids, and frequently draws forth tears. Joy smooths 
the forehead, opens and illuminates the eyes, raises the 
brows and the corners of the mouth, gently distends the 
nostrils, and heightens the complexion. Laughter raises 
the corners of the mouth still higher, giving the same 
direction to the line of the brows> discovers both rows of 
the teeth, moistens and almost shuts the eyes, diffuses 
wrinkles over several parts of the cheeks and forehead* 
and affects the voice in a very sensible and peculiar 
manner. 

406. I need not enter further into the detail of this 
subje6t ; what has been said may serve as a specimen ; 
and that is perhaps sufficient. Descriptions of physiog- 
nomy it is not easy to make intelligible without drawings; 
and if one had a good assortment of these, little descrip- 
tion would be necessary. Le Brun's passions are in eve- 
ry print-shop, and must be allowed to have considerable 
merit ; though the features, expressive of the more vio- 
lent emotions, are perhaps exaggerated into what the 
Italians call carkatwa : Chodowiecki has made some 
valuable additions to Le Brun, which may be found in 
Lavater. — I conclude with observing, that several ener- 
gies of the understanding, as belief, doubt, perplexity, 
denial, &c. do also display themselves visibly in the look 
and gesture ; as may be seen in that admirable Cartoon 
of Raffaelle, which represents Paul preaching at Athens. 

The end of PsrcaoLQGr* 

R2 



ELEMENTS 



O F 



MORAL SCIENCE. 



»:o:#:o:« 



PART SECOND. 



:©:o: 



NATURAL THEOLOGY. 



407 



INTRODUCTION. 

NATURAL theology explains what human 
reason can discover, concerning the being and 
attributes of God. It is a science of boundless extent: 
but we must confine ourselves to a few general principles. 
In respect ef certainty, it is equal to any science ; for its 
proofs rise to demonstration: in point of dignity, it is 
superior to others ; its object being the Creatpr of the 
universe : and its utility is so great, that it lays the only 
sure foundation of human society and human happiness. 
— The proofs of the divine existence are innumerable, 
and continually force themselves upon our observation ; 
and are withal so clear and striking, that nothing buf 
the most obstinate prejudice, and extreme depravity of 
both heart and understanding, could ever bring any 
rational being to disbelieve, or doubt it. With good 
reason, therefore, it is, that the psalmist calls the man 



Intr. MORAL SCIENCE. 191 

" a fool, who saith in his heart, there is no God." — 
Without belief in God, a considerate person (if it were 
possible for such a person to be without this belief) could 
never possess tranquillity or comfort; for to him the world 
would seem a chaos of misery and confusion. But where 
this belief is established, all things appear to be right, and 
to have a benevolent tendency : and give encouragement 
to hope, patience, submission, gratitude, adoration, and 
other good affections, essential to human felicity. 

408. That men, from education or from nature, 
•night have some notion of duty, even though they were 
to harden themselves into atheists, can hardly be doubted : 
but that notion would, in such men, be wholly ineffectu- 
al. From the fear of shame, or of human laws, the 
atheist may be decent in his outward behaviour ; but he 
cannot acl: from any nobler principle. And if at any 
time he could promote (what he takes to be) his interest, 
by the commission of the greatest crime, it is plain that 
there would be nothing to restrain him, provided he 
could conceal his guilt ; which any man might do 
occas'onally, and which men of great wealth or power 
could do at any time. Atheism is utterly subversive of 
morality, and consequently of happiness : and as to a 
community, or political society, of atheists, it is plainly 
impossible, and never took place in any nation. — They, 
refore, who teach atheistical doclrines, or who endea- 
vour to make men doubtful in regard to this great and 
glorious truth, the being of God, do every thing in 
their power to overturn government, to unhinge society, 
to eradicate virtue, to destroy happiness, and to pronounce 
confusion, madness, and misery, 

409. On what human reason discovers of the divine 
nature is partly founded the evidence even of revela- 
tion itself. For no pretended revelation can be true, 
which contradicU what by human reason is demonstra- 
ble of the divine perfections. We do not prove from 
scripture, that God exists ; because they who deny God, 
deny the authority of scripture too. But when, by ra- 
tional proof, we have evinced his being and attributes, 
we may then ascertain the truth of divine revelation, 
or detect the falsehood of a pretended one. When we 



Uthe 



192 ELEMENTS OF Part II. 

have, from the purity of its doclrine, and the exter- 
nal evidence of miracles, prophecy, and human testi- 
mony, satisfied ourselves of the truth of the christian 
revelation, it becomes us to believe even such parts of 
it as could never have been found out by human rea- 
son. And thus it is, that our natural notions of God 
and his providence are wonderfully refinexl and im- 
proved by what is revealed in holy writ : so that the 
meanest of our people, who has had a christian educa* 
tion, knows a great deal more on these subjects, than 
could ever be discovered by the wisest of the ancient 
philosophers. That many things in the divine govern- 
ment, and many particulars relating to the divine na- 
ture, as declared in scripture, should surpass our corn* 
prehension, is not to be wondered at ; for we are daily 
puzzled with things more within our sphere : we know, 
that our own soul and body are united, but of the 
manner of that union we know nothing. A past eternity 
we cannot comprehend ; and a future eternity is an 
objecl by which our reason is astonished and confound- 
ed : yet nothing can be more certain, than that one 
eternity is past and another to come. 

410. In evincing the being of God, two sorts of 
proof have been employed ; which are called the 
proofs a priori^ and a posteriori. In the former, the be- 
ing of God is proved from this consideration, that his 
existence is necessary, and tnat it is absurd and impossi- 
ble to suppose that he does not exist. This argument 
is fully discussed by Dr. Clarke, in the first part of his 
excellent book on the evidence of natural and revealed 
religion. The proof a posteriori shows, from the present 
constitution of things, that there is and must be a 
Supreme Being, of infinite goodness, power, and wisdom, 
who created and supports them. This last is the most 
obvious proof, and the most easily comprehended ; and 
withal so satisfying, that the man must be mad, who 
refuses to be convinced by it. I shall therefore give a 
brief account of this argument, referring to Dr. Clarke 
for the other. — Natural theology consists of two parts. 
In the first, we demonstrate the existence of God ; in the 
second, his attributes. These parts, however, are strictly 



Oh. I. MORAL SCIENCE. 193 

connected ; for the same arguments that prove the first, 
prove also the second. 

CHAP. I. 

Of the divine existence. 

411. r TPHAT we ourselves and innumerable other 
JL things exist, may be taken for granted, as a 
first principle, as evident as any axiom in Euclid. Hence 
we infer, that something must always have existed. For 
if ever there was a time when nothing existed, there 
must have been a time when something began to be ; and 
that something must have come into being without a 
cause : since, by the supposition there was nothing before 
it. But that a thing should begin to exist, and yet pro- 
ceed from no cause, is both absurd and inconceivable ; 
all men, by the law of their nature, being necessarily 
determined to believe, that whatever begins to exist, 
proceeds from some cause. Therefore some being must 
have existed from eternity. This being must have been 
either dependent on something else, or not dependent on 
any thing else. Now an eternal succession of dependent 
beings, or a beiny; which is dependent, and yet exists 
from eternity is impossible. For if every part of such a 
succession be dependent, then the whole must be so : 
and, if the whole be dependent, there must be something 
on which it depends ; and that something must be prior 
in time to that which depends on it ; which is impossi- 
ble, if that which is dependent be from eternity. It 
follows, that there must be an eternal and independent 
being, on whom all other beings depend. 

412. Some atheists seem to acknowledge a first cause, 
when they ascribe the origin of the universe to chance. 
But it is not easy to guess what they mean by this word. 
We call those things accidental, casual, or the effects of 
chance 9 whose immediate causes we are unacquainted 
with; as the changes of the weather, for example; 
which, however, every body believes to be owing to 
some adequate cause, though we cannot find it out. 
Sometimes, when an intelligent being does a thing 



194 ELEMENTS OF Part II. 

without design, as when a man, throwing a stone out 
of his field, happens to strike a man whom he did not seei 
it is called accidental. In affirming that the universe pro- 
ceeds from chance, it would appear, that atheists mean, 
either that it has no cause at all, or that its cause did not 
act intelligently, or with design, in the production of it. 
That the universe proceeds from no cause, we have seen 
to be absurd. And therefore, we shall overturn all the 
atheistical notions concerning chance, if we can show, 
what indeed is easily shown, and what no considerate 
person can be ignorant of, that the cause of the universe 
is intelligent and wise, and, in creating it, must have 
acted with intelligence and wisdom. 

413. Wherever w-e find a number of things, complex 
in their structure, and yet perfectly similar, we believe 
them to be the work of design. Were a man to find a 
thousand pairs of shoes, of the same shape, size, and ma- 
terials, it would not be easy to persuade him that the 
whole was chance- work. Now the instances of complex 
and similar productions in nature are so very numerous 
as to exceed computation. All human bodies* for exam- 
ple, though each of them consists of almost an infinite 
number of parts, are perfectly uniform in their structure 
and functions : and the same thing may be said of all the 
animals and plants of any particular species. To sup- 
pose this the effect of undesigning chance, or the produc- 
tion of an unintelligent cause, is as great an absurdity as 
it is possible to imagine. 

414. Further : a composition of parts mutually adap- 
ted, we must always consider as the work of design ; 
especially if it be found in a great variety of instances. 
Suppose a body* an equilateral prism, for example, to be 
formed by chance ; and suppose a certain quantity of 
matter accidentally determined to resolve itself into.tufr^s 
of a -certain dimension. It is 'infinite to one,, that these 
tubes should have orifices equal to the base of the prism -, 
there being an infinity of other magnitudes equally possi- 
ble. Suppose the orifices equal, it is as infinite to one, 
that any of the tubes shouid be prismatical ; infinite 
other figures being equally possible. Suppose one of 
them prismatical, there is, for the same reason, an infi- 



Ciul. MORAL SCIENCE. 195 

nity of chances, that it shall not be equilateral. Suppose 
it equilateral, there are still infinite chances that the 
tube and prism shall never meet. Suppose them to meet, 
there are innumerable chances that their axes shall not 
be in the same direction. Suppose them to have the 
same direction, there are still many chances, that the 
angles of the prism shall not coincide with those of the 
tube : and supposing them to coincide, there are innu- 
merable chances, that no force shall be applied in such 
a direction, as to make the prism enter the tube. 

4 15. How many millions of chances, then, are there 
against the casual formation of one prism inserted in a 
prismatic tube ! which yet a small degree of design could 
easily accomplish. Were we to find, in a solitary place, 
a composition of this kind, of which the tube was iron, 
and the prism of wood, it would not be easy for us to 
believe, that such a thing was the work of chance. And 
if so small a thing cannot be without design, what shall 
we say of the mechanism of a plant, an animal, a system 
of plants and animals, a world, a system of worlds, an uni- 
verse ! No person who has any pretensions to rationali- 
ty, and is not determined to shut his eyes against the 
truth, will ever bring himself to believe, that works so 
stupendous could be the effect of undesigning chance. 

416. To set this argument in a proper light, it would 
be necessary to take a survey of the works of nature ; in 
which the vast number cf systems, the artful union of 
parts, the nice proportions established between every 
part and system and its respective end, the innumerable 
multitudes of species, and the infinite numbers of forms 
in every species, are so conspicuous as to prove, beyond 
all doubt, that the Creator of the world is infinitely wise, 
powerful and good. Let a man examine only a grain of 
corn, by cutting it open, and viewing it with a micro- 
scope; and then let him consider another grain as planted 
in the earth, and by the influence of heat- soil, air, and 
moisture, springing up into a plant, consisting of a great 
number of vessels that disperse the vital sap into every 
part, and endowed with the power, or susceptibility, of 
growing in bulk, till in due time it produce a numbci of 
other grains of the same kind, necessary to the existence 



196 



ELEMENTS OF 



Part II. 



of man and other creatures ; let a rational being attend 
to this fact, and compare it with the noblest efforts of 
human art ; and if he is not struck with the infinite 
superiority of the one to the other, what can we say of 
him, but that he is void of understanding 1 And yet the 
mechanism and growth of a vegetable seems an inconsi- 
derable thing, when we think of the wisdom and power 
displayed in many other works of nature. 

417. What a fabric is our solar system! wherein 
bodies of such enormous magnitude accomplish their 
revolutions through spaces immense, and with a re- 
gularity, than which nothing can be more perfect. The 
distance of the planets from the sun, and their several 
magnitudes, are determined with the utmost wisdom, 
and according to the nicest geometrical proportion. 
The central orb, whether we consider its glorious 
appearance, its astonishing greatness, or the beneficial 
influence of its iight and heat* is such an object; as 
no rational being can contemplate without adoring 
the Creator. We have good reason to believe, that 
there are thousands of other suns and systems of worlds, 
more glorious perhaps and more extensive than ours ; 
which form such a stupendous whole, that the human 
soul, labouring to comprehend it, loses sight of itself 
and of all sublunary things, and is totally overwhelm- 
ed with astonishment and veneration. With such 
thoughts in our view, we are apt to forget the wonders 
that lie immediately around us, and that the smallest 
plant or animal body amounts to a demonstration of 
the divine existence. But God appears in all his works, 
in the least* as well as in the greatest ; and there is 
not, in the whole circle of human sciences, any one 
truth confirmed by so many irresistible proofs, as the ex- 
tence of the Deity. 

418. The diurnal motion of the planets is the easiest 
way possible of exposing all their parts to the influence 
of light and heat. Their globular form is the fittest for 
motion ; and for the free circulation of the atmosphere 
around them ; and at the same time supplies the most 
capacious surface. The principle of gravitation, pre- 
vailing through the whole systemi and producing in- 



Ch.I. MORAL SCIENCE. 197 

numerable phenomena, is a most amazing instance of 
unbounded variety united with the strictest uniformity 
and proportion. — But it is impossible in a few pages to 
give such an enumeration of particular*, as would do any 
justice to the subject. The man* who would suppose a 
large city, consisting of a hundred thousand palaces— all 
finished in the minutest parts, and furnished with the 
greatest elegance and variety of ornament, and tilth all 
sorts of books, pictures, and statues, executed in the most 
ingenious manner — to have been produced by the acci- 
dental blowing of winds and rolling of sands, would justly 
be accounted irrational. But to suppose the universe, or 
our solar system, or this earth, to he the work of undesign- 
ing chance, is an absurdity incomparably greater. 

419. And now, from a particular survey of the terra- 
queous globe — of the atmosphere, so necessary to light, 
and life, and vegetation — of the different productions 
of different countries, so well adapted to the constitu- 
tion and use of the inhabitants — from the variety of 
useful minerals to be found in all parts of the earth- — 
from the wonderful mechanism and still more wonder- 
ful growth of vegetables, their vast number and variety, 
their beauty and utility, and the great abundance of 
such as are most useful, particularly grass and corn — 
from the structure, life, motion, and instincts of ani- 
mals — from the exact correspondence of their instincts 
to their necessities — from the different kinds of them 
and of vegetables having been so long preserved — from 
the similitude between all the individuals of each species* 
—from the body and soul of man, so replete with 
wonders — from his intellectual and moral faculties — 
and from innumerable other particulars that come under 
the cognizance of man — we might proceed to set the 
divine existence in a still clearer light, if that were 
necessary : but the subject is so copious, that we cannot 
enter upon it. We should injure it by a brief summa- 
ry ; and a full detail would comprehend astronomv, 
geography, natural history, natural philosophy, and 
several other sciences. I therefore refer you to what 
has been written on it, by Xenophon, in the fourth 
chapter of his first book of Memorabilia; by Cicero, in his 

S 



198 ELEMENTS OF Part II. 

second book De naturadeorum; by Derham, Ray, Fenelon, 
Niewentyt; by Clarke, Bentley, Abernethy, &c in their 
sermons ; and by other ingenious authors. 

420. Some have urged, that there are in the universe 
many marks of irregularity and want of design, as well as 
regularity and wisdom ~, and that therefore we have no 
evidence, that the being who made all things, is perfectly 
good and wise.' — But though we were to admit the facl:, 
the inference would not be fair. The wonderful contri- 
vance which appears in the arrangement of the solar 
system, or even in the human body, abundantly proves the 
Creator to be infinitely wise. That he has not thought 
fit to make all things equally beautiful and excellent, can 
never be an imputation on his wisdom and goodness: for 
how absurd would it be to say, that he would have dis- 
played more wisdom, if he had endowed all things with 
life, perception, and reason ! Stones and plants, air and 
water, are most useful things, and would have been much 
less useful if they had been percipient beings ; as the 
inferior animals would have been both less useful and less 
happy, if they had been rational. Their existence, there- 
fore, and their natures, are proofs of the divine goodness 
and wisdom, instead of being arguments against it. 

421. Besidesi no man of sense accounts himself a 
complete judge of any work, even of a fellow^creature, 
unless he understand its end and structure, as well as 
the workman himself does. When we wish to know 
with certainty the value of a ship, or a house, or any 
implex machine, we consult those who are skilled in 
such things ; for them only we hold to be competent 
judges. In a complex contrivance there may be many 
parts, of the greatest importance, which an unskilful 
observer would not perceive the use of, or would per- 
haps declare to be useless* Now in the course of pro- 
vidence, a vast number of events and objects may be 
employed to accomplish one great end : and it is impos* 
sible for us to pronounce reasonably of any one event or 
objec~t, that it is useless or improper, unless we know its 
tendency, and connexion with other things, both past 
and future ; which, in cases innumerable, we cannot 
do. For of the past we know but little j the present 



Ch. II. MORAL SCIENCE, 199 

we know imperfectly ; and of the future we have no 
certain knowledge beyond what is revealed. The sys- 
tem of providence, relating to us and to our final destina- 
tion, extends through thousands of years, as we have 
good reason to believe : but our life is short, and our 
views are bounded by experience, which is very limited. 
That, therefore, may be a most wise and beneficent 
dispensation, which, to a captious mind and fallible 
judgment, may appear the contrary. 

422. Moreover, the Deity intended, that the nature 
of all created things should be progressive. Many years 
pass away before a man arrives at maturity ; and many 
<lays, before a plant can yield good fruit. Every thing 
is imperfect, while advancing to perfection : and we 
cannot say of any thing;, whether it will be well or ill-con- 
trived for answering its end, till we know what its state 
of maturity will be, and what the effects are, whereof it 
may be productive. Physical evils may, as will be 
shown by and by, be improved into blessings : and it will 
also be shown, that moral evil is a consequence of that 
law of nature, which makes us capable of virtue and 
happiness. Even in this world, providence often brings 
good out of evil : and every man of observation must 
have perceived, that certain events of his life, which, 
when they happened, seemed to be great misfortunes, 
have been found to be great blessings in the end. 

423. If, then, that which seems evil may really be 
good, for any thing we know to the contrary — and if that 
which is really evil, often does* and always may, produce 
good— .how can man be so presumptuous as to suppose, 
because he cannot distinctly see the nature and use of 
some things around him, that therefore the Creator of 
the world is not supremely good and wise ! No man can 
draw this conclusion, unless he believe himself infallible 
in his knowledge of all things past, present, and future : 
and he who believes so, if there be any such, is a fool. 

CHAP. II. 

Or THE DIVINE ATTRIBUTES. 

*24. ^\UR knowledge of the divine nature, though 
Vy sufficient to raise within us the highest 



200 ELEMENTS OF Part If. 

adoration and love, must needs be very imperfect ; for we 
cannot form a distinct idea of any moral or intellectual 
quality, unless we find some trace of it in ourselves 
Now God must possess innumerable perfections, which 
neither we, nor any created being, can comprehend. 
When we ascribe to him every good quality that we can 
conceive, and consider him as possessed of them all in 
supreme perfection, and as free from every imperfection, 
we form the best; idea of him that we can : but it must , 
fall infinitely short of the truth (The attributes of God, 
which it is in our power in any degree to conceive, or to 
make the subject of investigation, have been divided into 
natural, as unity, self-existence, spirituality, omnipotence, 
im m a t ability \ ete rnity ; intellfctual, as knotvhdg e an d 
wisdom; and moral, as justice* goodness, mercy, holiness, 

425. That God, is, has been proved already. That 
there are more gods than one, we have no evidence, 
and therefore cannot rationally believe. Nay even from 
the light of nature we have evidence, that there is 
one only. For in the works of creation there ap- 
pears that perfect unity of design,, which naturally 
determines an attentive spectator to refer them all to 
one first cause. Accordingly, the wisest men in the 
heathen world, though they worshipped inferior deities, 
(I should rather say names which they substituted for 
deities J, did yet seem to acknowledge one supreme God* 
the greatest and best of beings, the father of gods and 
men. It is probable, that belief in one God, was the 
original belief of mankind with respect to deity. But, 
partly from their narrow views, which made them think 
that one being could not, without subordinate agents, 
superintend all things — partly from their flattery to 
living great men, and gratitude to the dead, disposing 
them to pay divine honours to human creatures — partly 
from fanciful analogies between the divine providence 
and earthly governments — and partly from the figures of 
poetry, by which they saw the attributes of the deity 
personified, they soon corrupted the original belief, and 
fell into polytheism and idolatry. And no ancient 
people ever retained long their belief in the one true 
God, except the Jews, who were enlightened by revela- 



Ch. II. MORAL SCIENCE. 201 

tion ; and even they were frequently inclined to adopt 
the superstitions of their neighbours. We see then, 
that, in order to ascertain and fix men's notions of the 
divine unity, revelation seems to be necessary. 

426. Self-existence or independence is another natural 
attribute of God. If he depended on any thing, that 
thing would be superior and prior to him, which is ab- 
surd ; because he himself is the supreme and the first 
cause : therefore his existence does not depend on any 
thing whatever. The attribute of self-existence is some- 
thing that surpasses our comprehension ; and no won- 
der ; since all the beings, that we see around us, in the 
world, are dependent. But, as already observed, there 
are many things, which we must acknowledge to be true, 
notwithstanding that we cannot comprehend them. 

427. We see the material universe in motion; but 
matter is inert, and, so far as we know, nothing can 
move it but mind. Therefore God is a spirit. We do 
not mean that his nature is the same with that of our 
soul ; it is infinitely more excellent. But we mean that 
he possesses intelligence and active power in supreme 
perfection ; and as these qualities do not belong to 
matter, which is neither active nor intelligent, we must 
refer them to that which is not matter, but mind.— 
Some of the ancients thought that God is the soul of the 
universe, and that the universe is, as it were, his body. 
But this cannot be ; for wherever there is body, there 
must be inactivity, and consequently imperfection. He 
is therefore a pure spirit. Nor can we conceive, that he 
is confined within the limits of creation, as a soul 19 
within its body ; or that he is liable to impressions from 
material things, as the soul is from the body ; or that 
material things are instruments necessary to the exer- 
tions of our faculties. It must be as easy for him, to a£t 
beyond the bounds of creation, as within them ; to create 
new worlds, as to cease from creation. He is every 
where present and active ; but it is a more perfect pre- 
sence and activity, than that of a soul within a body — 
Another notion once prevailed, similar to that which ha$ 
been just now confuted, that the world is animated, as a 
body is by a soul, not by the Deity himself, but by an 



202 ELEMENTS OF PartlT. 

universal spirit, which he created in the beginning, and 
of which the souls of men and other animals are parts 
f r emanations. This I mention, not because a confuta- 
tion is necessary ; for it is mere hypothesis, without any 
shadow of evidence ; but because it may be of use in 
explaining some passages of ancient authors, particu- 
lar' y of Virgil, who once and again alludes to it*. 

428. In order to be satisfied, that God is omnipotent, 
we need only to open our eyes, and look round upon 
the wonders of his creation* To produce such astonish- 
ing effects, as we see in the universe, and experience 
in our own frame — and to produce them out of nothing, 
and sustain them in the most perfecl regularity — must 
certainly be the effect of power which is able to do all 
things, and which therefore nothing can resist. But thfc 
divine power cannot extend to what is either impossible 
in itself, or unsuitable to the perfection of his nature. 
To make the same thing at the same time to be and not 
to be, is plainly impossible : and to act inconsistently 
with justice, goodness, and wisdom, must be equally 
■impossible to a being of infinite purity. 

429. That God is from everlasting to everlasting, is 
evident from his being self-existent and almighty. That 
he was from all eternity, was proved already ; and it 
can admit of no doubt, that what is independent and 
omnipotent must continue to all eternity. In treating 
of the eternity of God, as well as of his omnipresence, 
some authors have puzzled themselves to little purpose, 
by attempting to explain in what manner he is connected 
with infinite space and endless duration. But it is vain 
to search into those mysteries ; as they lie far beyond 
the reach of all human, and most probably of all created 
intelligence. Of this we are certain ; for upon the 
principle just now mentioned, it may be demonstrated, 
that the Supreme Being had no beginning, and that of 
his existence there can be no end. That which is 
omnipotent and eternal, is incapable of being changed by 
any thing else ; and that, which is infinitely wise and 
e*do<], can never be supposed to make any change in 
it-elf. The Deity, therefore, is unchangeable. 

*+ p-j^-^^ J — , , _* *~ ■ ■ ■ ,. — . , «- 

* JE,wj\$. vi, 734.. Geor. iv. 22Q. 



Ch. IT. MORAL SCIENCE. 203 

430. As he is the maker and preserver of all things, 
and every where present, (for to suppose him to be in 
some places only, and not in all, would be to suppose him 
a limited and imperfecl being), his knowledge must be 
infin'te, and comprehend at all times whatever is, or was, 
or shall be. Were his knowledge progressive, like ours, 
it would be imperfect ; for they, who become more wise, 
must formerly have been less so. Wisdom is the right 
exercise of knowledge: and that he is infinitely wise, is 
proved incontestably by the same arguments that 
prove his existence. 

431. The goodness of God appears in all his works of 
creation and providence. Being infinitely and eternally 
happy in himself, it was goodness alone, that could move 
him to create the universe, and give being and the means 
of happiness to the innumerable orders of creatures con- 
tained in it. Revelation gives such a display of the di- 
vine goodness, as must fill us with the most ardent gra- 
titude and adoration. For in it we find, that God has put 
it in our power, notwithstanding our degeneracy and un- 
worthiness, to be happy both inthis life and for ever; a 
hope which reason alone could never have permitted us 
to entertain, on any ground of certainty. And here we 
may repeat, what was already hinted at, that although the 
right use of reason supplies our first notions of the divine 
nature i yet it is from revelation that we receive those dis- 
tinct ideas cf his attributes and providence, which are 
the foundation of our dearest hopes. The most enlight- 
ened of the heathens had no certain knowledge cf his 
unity, spirituality, eternity, wisdom, justice, or mercy; 
and, by consequence, could never contrive a comfortable 
system of natural religion; as Socrates, the wise-st of 
them, acknowledged- 

432. Lastly: justice is necessary to the formation of 
every good character; and therefore the Deity must be 
perfectly just. This, however, is an awful consideration 
to creatures, who, like us, are immersed in error and 
wickedness, and whose con c cknce is always declaring, 
that every sin deserves punishment. It is reasonable to 
think, that a being infinitely good must ajso be of infinite 
-mercy: but stilh the purity and justice of God must con- 



204 E L E M E N T S, Part II. 

vey the most alarming thoughts to those who know 
themselves to have been, in instances without number, 
inexcusably criminal. But, from what is revealed in 
scripture, concerning the divine dispensations with res- 
peel to man, we learn, that, on performing certain condi- 
tions, we shall be forgiven and received into favour, by 
means, which at once display the divine mercy in the 
most amiable light, and fully vindicate the divine justice. 
433. It is indeed impossible to understand the doc- 
trines of our religion, and not to wish at least, that they 
may be true : for they exhibit the most comfortable 
views of God and his providence ; they recommend the 
purest and most perfect morality ; and they breathe no- 
thing throughout, but benevolence, equity, and peace. 
And one may venture to affirm, that no man ever wished 
the gospel to be true, who did notJi?id it so. Its evidence 
is even more than sufficient to satisfy those who love it. 
And every man, who knows it, must love it, if he be a 
man of candour and a good heart. 



The End of PHEUMAfOLQGr. 



APPENDIX. 

Of the incorporeal nature of the human sail. 

434. \/[ AN is made up of a body and a soul, inti- 
iVX mately connected together, we know not how, 
or when. In consequence of this connexion, the body 
lives and moves, is nourished with food, and refreshed 
by sleep, and for a certain time increases in bulk. V> hen 
this connexion is dissolved, the body is insensible and 
motionless, soon becomes cold, and gradually moulders 
into dust. That the soul and body are distinct and 
different substances, was formerly inferred (see \ 119.) 
from the general consent of mankind in regard to this 
matter. It seems to be natural for us to believe, that the 
soul may exist, and be happy or miserable, without the 
body. This appears from those notions* which, in every 
age and country have prevailed, concerning a future state. 
435. But of the soul's immateriality there is other 
evidence. When two things have some essential quali- 
ties in common, we refer them to one class, or at least 
consider them as somewhat similar in their nature. But 
when two things are found to have not one quality in 
common, we must consider them as totally unlike and 
different. If therefore any piece of matter (or body) 
appear to have qualities, which, we know for certain, do 
not belong to matter, we conclude, that to this piece of 
matter there is joined something which is not matter, 
— The human frame presents to our outward senses a 
certain quantity of matter, divided into various parts, of 
different shapes and colours. Now the essential quali- 
ties of matter, we know, from experience, to be gravity, 
extension, solidity, ina-Slivity, and some others. These 
qualities are all in the human body. But in the human 
frame there are many qualities, not only different from 
these, but altogether unlike them. We are conscious of 
perceiving, remembering, judging, imagining, willing, 
and of a variety of passions t affections and appetites. 
Surely these qualities, which are indisputably in the hu- 
man frame, are very different from, and very unlike to, 
hardness, softness, weight* extension, and the other qua- 



2 °6 ELEMENTS OF App. 

lities of body. There is, therefore, in man, something 
which cannot be called body ; because from body it is in 
every respecl different. 

436. Moreover : the farther we carry our enquiries in- 
to matter, and its qualities, the more we are convinced, 
that it is essentially inaaive, or incapable of beginning 
motion. But in the human frame we know for certain, 
that there is something essentially adive, and capable of 
beginning motion in a thousand different ways. In the 
human frame, therefore, there are two things, whose 
natures are not only unlike, but opposite : the one is 
body, which is essentially inactive; the other, which is 
essentially active — shall we call it body too ? Then body 
must be something which unites in itself qualities direct- 
ly opposite, and destructive of each other : that must be 
in iti which is not in it ; it must at once have a certain 
quality, and not have that quality ; it must be both aclive 
and inactive. Round squareness, white blackness, or 
red-hot ice, are as natural, and may be as easily con^ 
ceived by the mind, as that one and the same thing 
should be, at one and the same time, capable of beginning 
motion, and incapable of beginning motion.. — The bu^ 
man frame is partly material. It follows, therefore, 
from what has been said, that the human frame must 
also be in part immaterial, spiritual, or not corporeal. 
That part of it, which is material, we call our body ; and 
that part of it, which has been proved to be immaterial* , 
we call our soul, spirit, or mind, 

437. Many controversies have been raised about the 
origin of the soul, and the time when it is united with 
the body. The common opinion seems to be the most 
probable ; namely, that the soul is created and united 
with the body, when the body is prepared for its re- 
ception. At what time, or in what manner, this union 
may take place, it is impossible for us to determine, and 

* Till of late, there was no ambiguity in this epithet, 
as here applied. But since our language began to de- 
cline, immaterial has been licentiously used to signify 
unimportant. The true English sense of it is, incorporeal) 
distinct from matter. 



App. MORAL SCIENCE. 207 

therefore vain to enquire : let us not suppose it deroga- 
tary from the happiness or perfection of the Deity, to 
be always employed (if ve may so speak) in creation. 
To omnipotence it must be as easy, and as glorious, to 
create, as not to create* The best philosophers have 
thought that his continual energy is necessary to pro- 
duce gravitation, and other appearances in the material 
world. That the divine providence extends to the 
minutest parts of creation, has been delivered by wise 
men in all ages ; is confirmed by revelation : and is 
agreeable to right reason. For as he is every where 
present, and of infinite power, it is impossible that any 
thing should happen without his permission. 

438. When we consider man's helpless condition at 
his coming into this world — how ignorant he is, and 
how unfit for aclion — that all he acquires in knowledges 
is by experience and memory — that we have no remem- 
brance of any thing previous to the present state — and 
that both revelation and the conscience of mankind 
declare the punishment which the wicked fear, and the 
reward which the good hope for, hereafter, to be the 
consequence of their behaviour in this life : when, I say, 
we lay all these things together, we must be satisfied, 
that the present is our first state of being. But it is 
said, that in this world we sometimes suffer evil, which 
we do not deserve ; that the vicious triumph, while the 
virtuous are unsuccessful ; that the infant child may be 
liable to want or disease from the profusion or debauch- 
ery of the parent, and the harmless villager to ruin, 
from the crimes of his sovereign : and that, therefore, 
we must in a foTmer state have incurred guilt, of which 
these and the like evils are the punishment* 

43$. This leads to an important, and, as many think, 
a difficult subject, the origin of evil ; on which I shall 
make some remarks, after I have offeree; an observation 
or two upon the opinion that introduced it. First, it 
may be observed, that the unequal distribution of good 
and evil in this life naturally turns our thoughts, not 
to a former, but to a future state of being ; and does in 
fac~l, as we shall see by and by, afford a proof of a fu- 
ture state. Secondly ; of virtues performed* or crimes 



208 ELEMENTS OF App. 

committed, in a former state, we have no remembrance, 
consciousness, or belief: and to punish us for crimes? 
which we cannot conceive that we ever committed, and 
of which we know nothing-, is inconsistent with divine 
justice. And, thirdly, if we sinned, or suffered, in a for- 
mer state, the origin of that sin or suffering must be as 
hard to be accounted for, as the origin of present evil. 

410. Evil is of two sorts; physical^ as pain, poverty, 
death; and moral y or vice. — I. Our being subject to 
physical evil puts it in our power to exercise patience, 
fortitude, resignation to the divine will, trust in provi- 
dence, compassion, benevolence, industry, temperance, 
humility, and the fear of God. If there were no physi- 
cal evil, there would hardly be an opportunity of exer- 
cising these virtues; in which case our present state 
could not be, what both reason and scripture declare it 
to be, a state of probation. Besides: our present suffer- 
ings we may, if we please, convert into blessings; which 
we shall do, if we take occasion from them to cultivate 
the virtues above-mentioned: for thus they will prove 
means of promoting our eternal happiness. The exis- 
tence, therefore, of physical evil, being necessary to 
train us up in virtue, and consequently to prepare us for 
future felicity, is a proof of the goodness of God, instead 
of being an objection to it. 

441. 2. Without virtue, such a creature as man 
could not be happy. In forming an idea of a happy 
state, we must always suppose it to be a state of virtue; 
the natural tendency of virtue being, to produce hap- 
piness; as vice invariably leads to misery. Now, man 
could not be capable of virtue, nor, consequently, of 
happiness, if he were not free, that is, if he had it not in 
hi s power to do either good or evil. And if he have this 
in his power, he must be liable to vice. Vice, therefore, 
or moral evil, is the effect of that law of divine provi- 
dence, whereby man is made capable of virtue and hap- 
piness — As the possibility of falling into error, and 
mistaking falsehood for truth, is necessary to the inv- 
proyement of our rational powers, so the existence, of 
evil, as well as of good, is necessary, at least in this life, 
tq the improvement of our moral nature. And upon 



App. MORAL SCIENCE. 203 

our improvement of our moral nature, our future happi- 
ness must depend. 

442. Supposing the present life to be preparatory to 
a future and eternal state, the evils we are now exposed 
to must to a good man appear inconsiderable. What are 
a few years of sorrow to an eternity of happiness? not so 
much as a head-ach of an hour is to a thousand years of 
good health. And who would scruple to suffer pain for 
several months, if he could thus insure health for many 
years ? — but, in fact, the evils of life are not so great as 
some people represent them. There is in human nature 
a pliableness, by which it can adapt itself, to almost any 
circumstances: and contentment, and resignation to the 
divine will, which are virtues in every person's power, are 
sufficient to render all the evils of life tolerable. And if 
to these virtues there be added a well-grounded hope of 
future felicity, which is also in the power of every person 
who is willing to be good, our present affiiclions may 
become not only tolerable, but light. The wicked, in- 
deed, must be unhappy both now and hereafter. But 
they will not suffer more than they deserve; they will 
be punished according to their works. And so far is 
their suffering from being an objection to the divine 
character, that it would be a very strong objeclion, if 
they were not to suffer. For he, who is perfectly good, 
must be perfectly just : and a being perfectly just must 
punish those who deserve punishment. 

443. To ask, why we are not made infallible and per- 
-fec~t> and capable of happiness, without virtue or liberty, 
is an impertinent and perhaps an impious question. It 
may as reasonably be asked, why there are not twenty 
planets in the solar system ? why a stone was not made 
a man or an angel ? or why the Deity did not make 
aJl his creatures equal to himself? such questions de- 
serve no answer, but this: that whatever God has been 
pleased to do must be right, whether we can account 
for it or not. Creatures who have it in their power to 
be happy, and whose happiness will ever increase as 
they improve in virtue, are surely under the greatest 
obligations to be thankful to that providence whicji Las 
made them what they are. 

T 



210 



444, 



i 



ELEMENTS OF 

Of the Immortality of the Sou!. 



A pp. 



T is unnecessary to prove to a christian, that his 
soul will never die ; because he believes that 
life and immortality have been brought to light by the 
gospel. But, though not necessary, it may be useful, to 
lay before him those arguments, whereby the immor- 
tality of the soul might be made to appear, even to 
those who never heard of revelation, probable in the 
highest degree, — Whether the human soul shall die 
with the body, or survive death, and live for ever, is an 
enquiry, which may be said to comprehend the three 
following questions i I. Does the light of nature, unaid- 
ed by revelation, afford any reason to think, that tfte 
soul of man may possibly survive the body? 2. Does the 
light of nature afford any reason to believe, that the soul 
$?/// actually survive the body I 3. If it does, what may 
be reasonably conjectured concerning a future state? 

445. Section I. Does the light of nature, unaided 
by revelation, afford any reason to thin!£, that the human 
soul may possibly survive the body ?— First: death destroys 
the body by disuniting its parts, or preparing them for 
being disunited : and we have no reason to think, that 
death can destroy in any other way, as we h: ve never 
seen any thing die, which did not consist of parts. But 
the soul consists not of parts ; having been proved to be 
incorporeal. Therefore, from the nature of death, and 
of the soul, we have no evidence that death can destroy 
the soul* Consequently, the soul may possibly, and for any 
thing we know to the contrary, survive the body. 

446. Secondly : the soul is a substance of one kind, 
and the body of another ; they are united ; and death 
dissolves the union. We may conceive them to exist 
after this union is dissblved ; for we see that the body does 
exist for some time after ; and may, by human art, be 
made to exist for a long time. And as most men have, 
in^all ages, entertained some notion of a future state, it 
must be agreeable to the laws of the human understand- 
ing to believe, that the soul may live,, when separated 
from the body. Now the dissolution of the union of two 
distinct substances'j each of which is conceived to be 



App. M ORAL SCIENCE. .211 

capable of existing separate, can no more he supposed 
necessarily to imply the destruction of both the Ufl 
substances, than the dissolution of the marriage union 
by death can be supposed to imply, of necessity, the 
destruction of troth husband and wife. Therefore the 
union of the soul and body is not necessary to the exist- 
ence of the soul after death. Consequently, the soul 
may possibly survive the body. 

447. Thirdly: naturalists observe, that the particles, 
whereof our bodies consist, are continually changing.; 
some going off, and others coming in their room : so that 
in a few years a human body becomes- not indeed differ- 
ent in appearance, but wholly different in substance. But 
the soul continues always the same. Therefore, even in 
this life, the soul survives, or may survive, several 
dissolutions of the body. And if so, it may possibly survive 
that other dissolution which happens at death — It is 
true, these dissolutions are gradual and imperceptible > 
whereas that is violent and sudden. But if the union of 
the soul and body be necessary to the existence of the 
soul, the dissolution of this union, whether sudden or 
gradual, whether violent or imperceptible, must destroy 
the soul. But the soul survives the gradual dissolution. 
Therefore, for any thing we know to the contrary, \tfios-. 
sibly may^ and probably will survive that which is instan- 
taneous. 

448. Some object, that it is only additional matter 
joined to our original body, which is gradually dissolved 
by the attrition of the parts ; whereas death dissolves the 
original body itself. Though this were granted, it must 
at any rate be allowed, that the soul has as much com- 
mand over this additional matter, as over the original 
body. For a full grown man has at least as much com- 
mand of h:s limbs, as an infant has of his ; and yet in the 
limbs cfthe former there must be a great deal of: 
tional matter, which is not. in the limbs Of the latter. And 
the soul and body of a full-grown man do mutually affecl 
each other, as much at feast as the soul and body of an 
infant. Consequently, the union between ou~ soul and 
this supposed additional matter, is as strict and intimate 
as that between the soul and its supposed original body. 
But we find that the former union may be dissolved with- 



212 ELEMENTS OF App. 

out injury to the soul. Therefore the union of the soul 
with its supposed original body, may also be dissolved* 
without endangering the soul's existence. 

449. Further: admitting the same doctrine of an 
original body, we must however observe, that living 
men may lose several of their limbs by amputation. 
Those limbs must contain parts of this original body, if 
there be any such thing. There is, then, a dissolution 
of the union between the soul and part of the original 
body ; and a violent one too ; which, however, affects not 
the existence of the soul. And therefore, for any thing 
that appears to the contrary, the soul may possibij survive 
the total dissolution .at death, 

450. But it is now time to reject this unintelligible 
rfoclrine of an original body. From a small beginning, 
man advances gradually to his full stature. At what 
period of his growth is it, that the original body is com* 
pleted, and the accession of additional matter commen- 
ces ? What is the original body ? Is it the body of an 
embryo, of an fnfant, or of a man ? Does the additional 
matter begin to adhere before the birth, or after it, in 
infancy, in childhood, in youth, or at maturity ? These 
questions cannot be answered ; and therefore we cannot 
admit the notion of an original body, as distinguishable 
.from the additional matter whereby our bulk is increased. 
Consequently, the third argument remains in full force ; 
,and is not weakened by this objection. 

45 1. Fourthly: if the soul perish at death, it must 
be by annihilation ; for death destroys nothing, so far 
as w,e know, but what consists of parts* Now we have 
no evidence of annihilation taking place in any part of 
the universe. Our bodies, though resolved into dust, 
are not annihilated ; not a particle of matter has perished 
since the creation, so far as we know. The destruction 
of old, and the growth of new, bodies, imply no creation 
of new matter, nor annihilation of the old, but only a new 
arrangement of the elementary parts. What reason 
then can we have to think, that our better part, our soul, 
will be annihilated at death, when even our bodies are 
not then annihilated ; and when we have no evidence of 
such a thing as annihilation ever taking place ? Such an 
opinion would be a mere hypothesis, unsupported by, 



App. MORAL SCIENCE. 215 

5i$y contrary to, experience ; and therefore cannot be 
reasonable. We have the^, from reason and the light 
of nature, sufficient evidence that the soul may possibly* 
survive the body, and consequently be immortal ; there 
being no event before us, so far as we know, except death* 
which would seem likely to endanger its existence. 

452. Section II. Does the light of nature afford any 
reason to believe, that the soul will actually survive 
the body ? The following are reasons for this belief- 
First : it is natural for us to think, that the course of 
things, whereof we have had and now have experi- 
ence, will continue, unless we have positive reason to 
believe that it will be altered. This is the ground of 
many of those opinions, which we account quite cer- 
tain. That, to-morrow, the sun will rise, and the sea 
ebb and flow— that night will follow day, and spring 
succeed to winter — and that all men will die — are opi- 

- nions amounting to certainty : and yet we cannot ac- 
count for them otherwise than by saying that such 
has been the course of nature hitherto, and that we 
have no reason to think it will be i^tered. When 
judgments of this kind admit no doubt, as in the ex- 
amples given, our conviction is called moral certainty, 
lam morally certain, that the sun will rise to-morrowj 
and set to-day, and that all men will die, &c. The in- 
stances of past experience* on which these judgments 
are founded, are innumerable : and there is no mixture 
of such contradictory instances, as might lead us to 
expect a. contrary event. 

453. But it often happens, that the experiences on 
which we ground our opinions of this sort, are but few 
in number ; and sometimes, too, they are mixed with 
contradictory experiences. In this case, we do not con- 
sider the future event as morally certain ; but only as 
more or less probable (or likely) according to the great- 
er or less surplus of the favourable instances. If, for ex- 
ample, a medicine has cured in five cases, and never fail- 
ed in one, we should think its future success probable, 
but not morally certain ; still more probable, if it has 
cured in twenty cases ; and more still, if in an hundred, 
without failing in one. If a medicine has cured in ten 

T2 



«I4- ELEMENTS OF App. 

cases, and failed in ten, our mind in regard to its future 
success would be in a state of doubt; that is, we should 
Yhink it as probable that it would fail on a future trial, 
as that it would succeed. If it had cured ten times,and 
faile i only s j Xj we should think it more probable that it 
would cure on a future trial, than that it would fail ; and 
st»!l more probable, if it had cured ten times, and failed 
only ore-. 

.454. These remarks, which properly belong to logic, 
*w,ili help to explain, in what manner our judgments are 
regulated, in regard to the probability or moral certainty 
of future events. To make ua morally certain of a future 
event requires, we cannot tell how many , but requires a 
very great number of favourable experiences, without 
any mixture of unfavourable ones. It is true, we have 
heard of two men, Enoch and Elijah, who did not die ; 
yet we expecl our own death with absolute certainty. 
Hut these instances are confessedly miraculous ; and 
besides, are so very few, compared with the infinite 
number of instances on the other side, that they make 
no alteration in our judgment. 

453, To apply all this to the present subje6l. Our 
bodies just now exist, but we foresee a cause that will 
destroy them, namely, death ; and, therefore, we believe, 
that they will not exist long. Our souls just now exist ; 
but we do not foresee any positive cause that will destroy 
them : it having been proved, that they may survive the 
body ; and there being no cause, so far as we know, that 
Y/];i then, or at any other time, destroy them. We must, 
therefore., admit, that our souls will probably survive the 
body. It is natural for us to believe this : the rules of 
evidence, which determine our belief in similar cases, 
determine us to this belief. But there are other argu- 
ments, which prove the same thing by evidence still 
bibber. 

456. Secondly: we are conscious of being, in many 
yespecls, capable of endless improvement. The more 
knowledge we acquire, the greater is our capacity and 
oar relish for further acquisitions. It is not so with the 
brutes^ for such of them, as are at all docile, soon reach 
^ihe highest improvement whereof they are capable* 



J 



App. MORAL SCIENCE. 2] 

Disease may put a stop to our improvement as well as 
curiosity for a time ; but when it goes off, we are curious 
and improveable as before. Dotage is a disease ; from 
which if we could recover* there is reason to think that 
we should be as rational and ingenious as ever: for there 
have been instances of recovery from dotage ; and of per- 
sons> who, at the close of life, have regained the full use 
of those faculties, of which they had been for several 
years deprived. And it often happens, that old people 
retain all their mental powers, and their capacity of im- 
provement, to the last — -Now God, being perfect in wis- 
dom, caftnot be supposed to bestow upon his creatures 
useless or superfluous faculties. But this capacity of 
endless improvement is superfluous, if man be to perish 
finally at death; for much more limited powers would 
have suited all the purposes of a creature whose duration 
comprehends no more than ninety or a hundred years. It 
is therefore unreasonable to suppose, that the soul will 
perish with the body. 

457. Thirdly : the dignity of the human soul, compa- 
red with the vital principle of brutes, leads to the same 
conclusion. Brutes have some faculties in common with 
us : but they are guided by instinct chiefly* and incapa- 
ble of science. Man's arts and his knowledge maybe 
said to be, in one sense, of his own acquisition ; for, in- 
dependently on experience and information he can do lit- 
tle and knows nothing. But then, he is improveable, as 
was just now observed, to an extent to which we can set 
no bounds. He is, moreover, capable of science ; that is, 
of discovering the laws of nature, con paring them to- 
gether, and applying the knowledge of them to the reg- 
ulation of his conduct and to the enlargement of his pow- 
er. He has a sense of truth and falsehood, virtue and 
vice, beauty and deformity. He is impressed with a be- 
lief, that he is accountable for his conduct. He is endow- 
ed with the capacity of knowing, obeying and adoring his 
Creator ; on whom he is sensible that he and all thirjgs 
depend, and to whom he naturally looks up for protec- 
tion and comfort : and lie expects that his being will rot 
end with this life, but be prolonged through eternity. 
These are principles and sentiments, whereof the most 
sagacious brutes arc not in tny degree susceptible. 



216 ELEMENTS OF App. 

458. The instincts, appetites, and faculties, wTiteh we 
have in common with them, are necessary to our exis- 
tence and well-being as animals. But for what purpose 
are we endowed with moral and religious principles? 
these are not necessary to the support of our animal na- 
ture ; these are useless, or at least fallacious? if there be 
no future state. To those who attend to the economy and 
analogies of nature, and observe how nicely every thing 
is fitted to its end, it must appear incredible, that man 
should have the same final destiny with the brutes: con- 
sidering that his mental constitution is so very different : 
that his capacities are transcendently superior; and that 
his highest happiness and misery arise from circumstan- 
ces whereof the brutes feel nothing and know nothing, 
namely from his virtue and vice, and from his hope of 
the approbation, and fear of the disapprobation of his 
Creator. 

459. Fourthly : we are possessed of many faculties, 
which, in the present life, are never exerted. This we 
know to be the case with those who die young or unin- 
strucied, that is, with the greatest part of mankind; and 
we have reason to think, that this is the case, in some 
measure, with all ; for we seldom prosecute any new stu- 
dy without finding in ourselves powers which we are not 
conscious of before; and no man, alter the greatest attain- 
ments in art aftd science, and at the end of the longest life, 
could say, that he had exercised all his powers, or knew 
the full extent of his own capacity. In most men., there- 
fore, we are sure that there are, and in all men we have 
reason to think that there are, faculties, which are not ex- 
erted in this life; and which, by consequence, must be 
useless, if there is no other. But in the works of creation 
there is nothing useless. Therefore, the souls of men 
will exlht in a future state* 

460. Fifthly: all men have a natural desire and ex- 
pectation of immortality. The thought of being redu- 
ced into nothing, is shocking to a rational soul. These 
hopes and desires are'ivot the effect of education : for, 
with a very few exceptions, they are found in all ages 
and countries. They arise not from self-conceit, or 
pride, or any extravagant passion ; for the conscience 
Cxf mankind approves them us innocent, laudable, and 



App. MORAL SCIENCE. 217 

right: and they prevail most in those who are most 
remarkable for virtue, that is, for the moderation and 
right government of their passions and desires. They 
must, therefore, take their rise from something in the 
original frame of human nature : and, if so, their author 
is God himself. But is it to be supposed, that he, who is 
infinitely wise and good, should have inspired his crea- 
tures with hopes and wishes, that had nothing in nature 
to gratify them ? Is it to be supposed, that he should 
disappoint his creatures, and frustrate those very desires, 
which he has himself implanted ? The expectation of 
immortality is one of those things that distinguish man 
from all other animals. And what an elevating idea 
does it give us of the dignity of our nature ! 

461. Sixthly: it is remarkable that the wisest men 
in all ages, and the greatest part of mankind in all nations, 
have believed that the soul will survive the body ; how 
much soever some of them may have disfigured this 
belief by vain and incredible fictions. Now here is a 
singular fac~l that deserves our attention. Whence 
could the universal belief of the soul's immortality 
arise? — It is true, that all men have believed that the 
sun and starry heavens revolve about the earth : but this 
opinion is easily accounted for ; being warranted by what 
seems to be the evidence of sense. It is also true, that 
most nations have, at one time or other, acknowledged a 
plurality of gods : but this is a corruption of an original 
true opinion ; for it is highly probable, nay it appears 
from history, that believing in one God was the more 
ancient opinion, and that polytheism succeeded to it, 
and was a corruption of it. Now it is not at all surpri- 
sing, that when a true opinion is introduced among 
mankind, it should, in ignorant ages, be perverted by 
additional and fabulous circumstances. — But the immor- 
tality of the soul is not a corruption of arr original true 
opinion ; nor does it derive any support from the evidence 
of sense: It is itself an original opinion, and the testi- 
mony of sense seems ratherto declare against it. 
Whence then could it arise ? 

462. Not from the artifice of politicians, in order to 
keep the world in awe, as some have vainly pretended. 



21& ELEMENTS 4OF A pp. 

For there never was a time, when all politicians were 
w ise, and the rest of mankind fools : there never \\*as a 
time, when all. the politicians on earth were of the same 
opinion, and concurred in carrying on the same dvsign : 
there never was a time, when all politicians thought it 
their interest to promote opinions so essential to human 
happiness, and so favourable to virtue, as this of immo r- 
tality : and in ancient times, the intercourse between 
nations was not so open, as to permit the -universal 
circulation of this opinion,, if it had been artificial. To 
which 1 may add, that mankind have never yet adopted 
any opinion universally, merely upon the authority of 
cither politicians or philosophers. — This opinion, there- 
fore, must have arisen from a natural suggestion of the 
human understanding, or from a divine revelation com- 
municated to our first parents, and by them transmitted 
to their posterity. In either case, this opinion will be 
allowed to be of the most respectable authority ; and it 
is highly absurd and dangerous to rejecl it> or call it in 
question — Another argument is founded upon the une- 
qual distribution of good and evil in the present life* 
This will be considered by and by* 

463. Section ILL What may be reasonably conjec- 
tured concerning a future state ?— First : from the wis- 
dom and goodness of God, we may reasonably infer, 
that it will be governed, like the present, by established 
laws. What those may be, it is not for us to determine : 
but we may rest assured, that they will be wise and good. 
— Secondly : from the different circumstances wherein 
we shall then be placed, and from the different being's 
with whom we shall then probably have intercourse, 
it may be inferred, that in a future state we shall be 
endowed with many new faculties, or at least that many 
faculties, now hidden and unknown, will then exert 
themselves. In our progress from infancy to mature 
age, our powers are continually improving ; and new 
ones often appear and are exerted. We may therefore 
expect that the same progression will be continued 
hereafter. — It is true, we cannot now form any idea of 
faculties different from those of which we have expe- 
rience. But this argues nothing against the present 



App. M ORAL SCIENC E. 219 

conjecture. A man bom blind has no notion of seeing, 
nor has an ignorant man any idea of those operations 
of the human mind, whereby we calculate eclipses, and 
Ptain the periods of the planets. Yet it would be 
absurd, in those who want these powers, to deny their 
reality or possibility. 

464. Thirdly: as the future state will be a state of 
happiness to the good, we may reasonably conjecture, 
that it will be a state of society. For we cannot suppose 
it possible, for such creatures as we are, to be happy in 
perfect solitude. And if we shall then have any remem- 
brance of present things, which is highly probable, there 
is reason to hope, and good men have in all ages rejoiced 
in the hope, that the virtuous will then know and con- 
verse with those friends, with whom they have been inti- 
\y connected in this world. This we cannot but 
think, will ;. :• an addition to their happiness. But painful 
remembrances of every kind will probably be obliterated 
forever. 

46o. Fourthly : the future state will be a state of retri- 
bution ; that is, of reward to the good and of punishment 
to the wicked. This is intimated by many considerations; 
which prove, not only that a future state, if there be one> 
will be a state of retribution, but prove also, that there 
will be a future state. Vice deserves punishment, and 
Y r:ue reward*: this is clear from the dictates of reason 
And conscience. In the present life, however, the wicked 
sometimes meet with less punishment than they deserve, 
while the virtuous are often distressed and disappointed. 
But. urder the government of him who is infinitely good 
and just, who cannot be mistaken, and whose purposes it 
is, impossible to frustrate, this will not finally be the case ; 
and every man must at last receive according to his 
works. 

466. Further: good men have a natural hope, and 
wicked men have a natural fear, in consequence of what 
they expect in the life to come* Those hopes and fears 
result from the intimations of conscience, declaring the 

f In what respedls virtue is meritorious, will be consi- 
dered in the second volume. 



220 ELEMENTS OF App. 

■ merits of virtue and the demerits of vice. And there- 
fore* as it is impossible for us to believe> that the dictates 
of conscience, our supreme faculty, are delusive or irra- 
tional, we must believe, that there is future evil to be fear- 
ect by the wicked, and future good to be expected by the 
righteous. Even ta this life there are signs of a retribu- 
tion begun : whence we learn, that we are subject to the 
moral govern >ent of God, and that things have a tendency 
to retribution. Certain virtues, as temperance and indus- 
try, are frequently their own reward ; and the opposite vi- 
ces seldom fail to bring along with them their own pun- 
ishment. Nay sometimes, even here, the wicked are 
overtaken with judgments of so peculiar a kind, that w« 
cannot help ascribing them to a just providence. But 
the retribution here begun is not perfect. Perfect how- 
ever, under the government of a just and almighty being* 
it must be in the end. And therefore, there will be a 
future state of most righteous retribution. 

467. Fifthly : In a future life, the virtuous will make 
continual improvements in virtue and knowledge, and 
consequently in happiness. This may be inferred, from 
the progressive nature of the human mind, to which 
length of time, properly employed, never fails to bring an 
increase of knowledge and virtue, even in this world— 
and from the nature of the future state itself, in which 
we cannot suppose, that any cross accidents will ever 
interfere to prevent virtue from attaining happiness, its 
natural consequence and reward. 

468. Lastly : in the future state, virtue shall prevail 
over vice, and happiness over misery. This must be the 
final result of things, under the government of a Being 
who is infinitely good, powerful and wise. Even in this 
life* virtue tends to confer p>©wer as well as happiness : 
many nations of vicious men might be subdued by one 
nation of good men. There is hardly an instance on 
record, of a people losing their liberty while they retain- 
ed their virtue : but many are the instances of mighty 
nations falling, when their virtue was lost, an easy prey 
to the enemy. In this life, the natural tendency of 
virtue to confer superiority, is obstructed in various ways. 
Here, all virtue is imperfect ; the wicked, it is to be 



App- MORAL SCIENCE. 221 

feared, are the most numerous : the virtuous cannot 
always know one another ; and, though they could, many 
accidents may prevent their union. But these causes 
extend not their influence beyond the grave ; and 
therefore, in a future state, happiness and virtue must 
triumph, and vice and misery be borne down. 

469. This is a very brief account, indeed, of the argu- 
ments that human reason, unaided by revelation, could 
furnish, for the immortality of the soul. All taken 
together amount to such a high probability, as can hardly 
be resisted by any rational being. Yet we must acknow- 
ledge, that unassisted reason makes this matter only in 
a very high degree probable. It is the gospel which 
makes it certain ; and which, therefore, may with truth 
be said to have brought life and immortality to light. 



END OF THE FIRST VOLUME, 



CONTENTS 



Of THE 



FIRST VOLUME. 



>:o:#:o:« 

Page. 

^ Advertisetrtent, 5 

latroduaion, - 7 

PART FIRST. 

PsrcBOLoer* 1 1 
Chap. I. 

Perceptive Faculties. 12 

Se£l. !• Some words explained, * - ibid. 

Se6l. 2. The faculty of speech, - 17 

Sea. 3* Essentials of language, 27 
Sect. 4. External sensation. Tasting, smell, &c 45 

Sect. 5. Consciousness, 52 

Se6l. 6. Memory, - 54 

Sect. f. Imagination, - 60 

Seel. 8. Dreaming, 68 

Sea. 9. Secondary sensations, - 71 

Seft. 10. Sympathy, 93 

Sea. 11. Taste, - - - 93 

Chap. II. 

Active Powers* 

Sea. 1. Free Agency, - - 104 

Sea. 2. Remarks on the will, - - 114 



3*24 




Sea. 


3. 


Sea, 


4. 


Sea. 


5. 


Sea. 


6. 


Sea. 


7. 



CONTENTS. 

Principles of aai^ijj - - 117 

The subjecY continued. Passions and 

affeaicns, - - -124 

Passions and affeaions, j» - 134 

Passions and affections, - 176 

Of the passions as -they display them- 
selves in the look and gesture, - 1B1 

PART SECOND. 

HAtURAL fHEOLOqr. 

Introduaion, - - - 190 

Chap. I. 
Of the divine existence, - - 103 

Chap. II. 

Of the divine attributes, * \ ■ — — 199 

- APPEND I X. 

Of the incorporeal nature of the soul, — 204 

Of the immortality of the soul> - • * 3 10 



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